tHK  TT 
UNIVE! 

UJA  : 


UNEASY  STREET 


WT  "OKJBttff 

LOS  AIVGKLi 


OTHER  BOOKS  BY 

ARTHUR  SOMERS  ROCHE 


EYES  OF  THE  BLIND,  THE 

LOOT 

PLUNDER 

RANSOM 

SPORT  OF  KINGS,  THE 


CARR^   THIS.   PLEASE." 

SHE  SAID. 

THIS"   WAS   A   DIAMOND  PIN. 


Uneasy  Street 


By 
Arthur  Somers  Roche 


Illustrated  by 
James  Montgomery  Flagg 


@iopolitan  Book  (ojprafion 

New  York  MCMXX 


Copyright,  1920,   by 

COSMOPOLITAN  BOOK  CORPORATION 


All  rights  reserved,   including  that  of  translation 
into  foreign  languages,  including  the  Scandinavian 


PRINTED   IN  U.8.A. 


TO 
MY   CHARMING  WIFE 


2035373 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Carry  this,  please,"  she  said. 

'This*  was  a  diamond  pin Frontispiece 

OPPOSITE 
PAGE 

"I'm  no  blackmailer,  Mr.  Baird." 120 

"Suppose  I  tell  you  I  can  put  Rodney  Baird 
in  jail  ?" 226 

Eileen  rose  and  dropped  him  a  courtesy.      .     .     282 


UNEASY  STREET 


long  mirror  held  a  most  presentable  figure. 
JL  It  was  true  that  the  collar  of  the  coat  did  not 
fit  as  snugly  about  the  neck  as  Baird  would  have 
wished,  but  one  must  not  expect  too  much  of  ready- 
to-wear  garments  if  one  can't  take  the  time  to  per- 
mit necessary  alterations.  Anyway,  it  was  a  mo- 
ment to  which  he  had  looked  forward  for  eighteen 
months,  and  he  would  not  be  captious.  Further- 
more, ready-made  though  the  suit  might  be,  it  un- 
doubtedly fitted  much  better  than  any  tailored  gar- 
ment that  he  might  have  had  made  at  Donchester. 
Of  course,  had  he  time,  he'd  go  to  one  of  the  tailors 
on  the  Avenue  and  be  outfitted  right. 

He  discovered  a  sardonic  smile  on  the  lips  of  the 
man  in  the  mirror.  He'd  better  amend  that  last 
wordless  statement  of  his.  Had  he  time  and  money t 
he'd  patronize  the  Avenue.  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders — noting,  as  he  did  so,  that  the  collar 
hunched  a  trifle — and  walked  to  the  window.  He 
picked  from  a  chair  and  tossed  upon  the  bed  a  pair 
of  breeches  and  a  blouse;  upon  the  latter  were  the 
two  silver  bars  of  a  captain. 

9 


10  UNEASY  STREET 

He  drew  the  chair  close  to  the  window  and  sat 
down.  Upon  the  sill  he  rested  his  elbows.  Chin 
in  palms,  he  leaned  forward  through  the  open  win- 
dow. It  was  the  last  day  of  the  last  year  of  the 
great  war,  but  nature  had  been  merciful  to  New 
York.  The  air  was  but  as  crisp  as  one  might  ex- 
pect on  an  October  evening.  But,  had  it  been  zero 
weather,  Baird  would  still  have  leaned  through  the 
open  window.  Below — twelve  stories  below — was 
Broadway ! 

New  York's  lamp  was  lighted  to-night.  Over  in 
Jersey,  on  Long  Island,  even  to  Connecticut,  Baird 
knew,  the  city's  illumination  was  visible  against  the 
sky.  New  York,  with  the  passing  of  the  war, 
had  come  into  her  own  again. 

Baird  sniffed  the  keen  air  greedily.  His  eyes 
were  avid  for  the  electric  displays.  His  ears  drank 
in  the  holiday  roar  from  the  streets  below.  It  was 
only  seven  o'clock,  but  already  the  suburbs  had  sent 
their  cohorts  to  throng  Broadway.  With  cow- 
bells and  horns,  with  harsh  rattles  and  shrill  whis- 
tles, with  confetti  and  feather  ticklers,  the  crowds 
swirled  and  eddied  about  Times  Square. 

It  was  a  sight.  Even  to  a  man  who  had  wit- 
nessed Paris  celebrating  peace,  it  was  a  sight.  For 
this  was  something  more  than  New  York's  annual 
greeting  to  the  new  year;  it  was,  Baird  sensed,  the 
city's  formal  but  joyous  tossing-away  of  the  bur- 
den of  war. 

He  withdrew  from  the  window.  Too  bad  to  leave 
New  York  when  one  had  merely  glimpsed  it!  But 
ex-captains  of  the  A.  E.  F.  must  look  for  work. 


UNEASY  STREET  11 

Not,  thank  the  Lord,  that  Rodney  Baird  must 
look  very  far.  Robbins  &  Robbins,  real  estate, 
Donchester,  Massachusetts,  had  cordially  invited 
their  departing  chief  bookkeeper  to  return  when  the 
war  ended.  The  old  job  would  be  waiting.  He  was 
lots  luckier  than  a  good  many  of  the  chaps  who 
had  crossed  with  him,  who  had  gone  with  him  to 
Upton  to  wait  demobilization.  Still —  Restlessly 
he  walked  to  the  window  again. 

The  crowd  on  Broadway  was  greater  now.  Every 
minute  it  was  augmented  by  fresh  hordes  coughed 
forth  from  the  subways.  The  city  was  getting  into 
its  stride.  It  would  be  sort  of  fun  to  go  out  and 
stroll  round.  He'd  do  it!  His  train  did  not  leave 
until  eleven. 

He  was  struggling  into  his  overcoat  when  the 
telephone  bell  rang. 

"Captain  Rodney  Baird?" 

".E-r-Captain  Baird,"  he  answered.  "That  you, 
Jimmy?" 

"Yea,  bo!  James  McPherson  Ladd,  lately  sec- 
ond lieutenant  of  infantry,  all  filled  up  with  desire 
to  call  a  captain  names.  Where  have  you  been 
hiding,  anyway?" 

"Only  got  my  discharge  yesterday,  Jimmy.  Beat 
it  into  town  this  afternoon,  bought  me  some  new 
store  garments,  and  a  ticket  home " 

"Tear  up  your  ticket  home,"  advised  Ladd. 
"New  York  is  home  to  men  of  brains.  Haven't  I 
been  telling  you  for  six  months  that  James  McPher- 
son Ladd,  senior,  needs  a  willing  young  partner? 
And  he  knows  that  I'll  never  be  willing.  But  more  of 


12  UNEASY  STREET 

this,  anon,  me  boy.  You're  at  the  Tramby.  It 
will  take  you  one  minute  to  reach  the  street,  ninety 
seconds  to  find  a  taxi,  and  eleven  minutes — in  the 
mob  to-night — to  reach  the  Chummy  Club.  We 
await  you." 

"But  I  haven't  any  clothes — and  who's  *we  ?'  " 

"We?  Wait—"  Baird  heard  him  caU,  "Eileen, 
come  here  and  tell  Captain  Baird  how  much  you 
love  him!" 

Baird  waited  a  moment.  Then,  over  the  wire, 
came  a  girl's  voice. 

"Captain  Baird,"  it  said,  "I'm  to  tell  you  how 
much  I  love  you." 

"Well,  tell  me,"  he  laughed. 

"Over  the  'phone?"  she  asked. 

"Did  Jimmy  tell  you  that  I've  just  been  dis- 
charged and  haven't  had  time  to  get  any 
clothes " 

"No;  he  didn't  tell  me  that,  but  he's  told  me  so 
much  about  you.  And  he's  been  trying  all  day  to 
reach  you.  You'll  be  up  here  in  fifteen  minutes, 
eh?" 

Baird  was  rather  dazed  as  he  hung  up  the  re- 
ceiver. That  Jimmy  Ladd  should  have  gone  to 
any  trouble  to  locate  him  was  in  itself  somewhat 
surprising.  True,  Ladd  and  he  had  been  quite 
good  friends,  but  he  had  assumed  that  their  friend- 
ship would  cease  upon  discharge.  For  young  Ladd 
was  an  heir  to  millions,  and  he,  Rodney  Baird, 
was  a  bookkeeper  from  the  town  of  Donchester, 
Massachusetts.  Not  that  a  bookkeeper  wasn't  as 
good  as  anyone  else,  but,  somehow  or  other,  al- 


UNEASY  STREET  13 

though  laborers  had  won  commissions  and  college 
men  had  failed  to  do  so,  the  war  was  over.  Things 
must  return  to  the  status  quo  ante. 

He  colored  as  he  glanced  in  the  mirror.  Then 
he  berated  himself  for  his  pettiness.  Jimmy  Ladd 
was  a  fine  young  chap  who  paid  him  the  compli- 
ment of  wishing  to  introduce  him  to  his  women 
friends.  Jimmy  had  waved  aside  his  protest  that 
he  had  no  clothing  with  him.  A  lately  discharged 
officer  was  not  supposed — away  from  his  own  home 
town,  too — to  have  evening  clothes  with  him.  And, 
anyway,  they  could  take  him  as  he  was,  he  told  him- 
self defiantly. 

The  defiant  mood  was  still  with  him  as  he  sur- 
rendered hat  and  coat  to  the  attendant  at  the 
Chummy  Club.  He  wore  the  least  bit  of  a  frown 
as  he  advanced  to  the  door  of  the  main  dining-room. 
Tall,  good-looking,  well  enough  built  for  his  figure 
to  defy  the  ready-made  suit,  there  was  that  touch 
of  diffidence  in  his  manner  that  sometimes  indicates 
modesty,  but  more  often  a  self-consciousness  that' 
is  born  twin  to  conceit. 

They  didn't  have  Chummy  Clubs  in  Donchester. 
As  he  glanced  over  the  crowded  room,  Baird  re- 
membered the  Donchester  restaurant  that  had  es- 
sayed a  cabaret.  It  had  not  lasted  long.  The  city 
council  had  threatened  a  revocation  of  the  liquor 
license,  and  the  restaurant  had  meekly  yielded  to 
Puritanism. 

But  if  Donchester  had  thought  that  innocuous 
cabaret  harmful,  what  would  Donchester  think  of 
the  performance  going  on  here  now?  That  girl  with 


14  UNEASY  STREET 

the  auburn  hair  and  the  hot  gray  eyes,  dancing  with 
the  slim,  red-cheeked  youth!  It  would  never  do  in 
Donchester — he  was  sure  of  that. 

The  girl  with  the  auburn  hair  passed  him  again. 
He  knew  that  she  spoke  to  her  immaculately 
groomed  partner.  Doubtless  she  was  calling  atten- 
tion to  his  clothing,  so  out  of  place  among  these 
dinner  jackets  and  tail  coats.  He  looked  swiftly 
away. 

And  then  some  one  pounded  him  on  the  back  and 
breathed  fervent  salutation  into  his  ears.  It  was 
the  slim  youth,  the  red-cheeked  healthy-looking 
companion  of  the  girl  with  the  auburn  hair. 

"I  didn't  know  you  in  those  clothes,  Rod,  and 
I'll  bet  a  cooky  that  you  didn't  know  me.  You 
old  son  of  a  gun — gosh,  but  you  are  changed! 
Long  pants  and  lapels  sure  make  a  hero  look  like 
a  bookkeeper!" 

It  was  an  unfortunate  phrase,  and  Baird's  blush 
grew  more  vivid.  As  though  Ladd  were  far  away, 
he  heard  him  go  through  the  formalities  of  intro- 
duction to  the  auburn-haired  girl.  He  heard  his 
own  voice  stammering  acknowledgment  of  his  pres- 
entation to  Miss  Eileen  Elsing.  Quite  to  his  amaze- 
ment, he  found  himself  upon  the  dancing-floor,  his 
arm  round  Miss  Eileen  Elsing,  her  face  quite  close 
to  his.  They  had  progressed  three-quarters  of  the 
way  round  the  room  before  the  girl  spoke. 

"Jimmy's  a  bit  of  an  ass,  isn't  he?" 

"Eh?     I  beg  pardon,"  stammered  Baird. 

"Oh,  if  he's  that  good  a  friend,  I  apologize," 
she  said  lazily.  Her  voice  was  languid,  almost 


UNEASY  STREET  15 

heavy,  yet  rich  and  vibrant,  too.  "But,"  she  went 
on,  "why  did  he  warn  me  that  you  couldn't  dance?" 

"Kindness,"  replied  Baird. 

The  girl  glanced  up  at  him.  She  was  not  short. 
The  upward  glance,  so  close  were  her  eyes,  had 
the  effect  on  Baird  almost  of  physical  contact. 
She  was  not  over  twenty-four,  he  decided.  Sophisti- 
cated as  those  eyes  were,  they  held  youth  in  them. 

"Are  all  heroes  mock-modest?"  she  asked.  "You 
dance  extremely  well,  and  are  extremely  well  aware 
of  it."  Again  her  eyes  roamed  over  his  face. 

"Thank  you,"  he  murmured ;  "but  I  wasn't  aware 
of  it." 

"Oh,  you're  a  bit  clumsy  about  the  new  steps,  but 
• — if  you'd  let  me  guide  you " 

The  gloved  hand  that  rested  upon  his  right  arm 
exerted  a  slight  pressure.  Immediately  he  found 
himself  half  reversing  and  moving  backward. 

"You  see,"  she  said.  "With  me  to  guide 
you ' 

"Paradise,"  he  muttered. 

"Back  with  banality  from  war,"  she  said. 
"Couldn't  you  think  of  something  newer?" 

"But  you  wanted  something,  and  I  don't  think 
quickly,"  he  retorted. 

The  music  ceased.  The  dancers  applauded  for 
an  encore  while  the  girl  looked  inquiringly  at  Baird. 

He  nodded,  and  she  led  him  to  the  table  where 
Ladd  now  sat.  There  were  others  there,  a  Mrs. 
Dabney  and  a  Miss  Boffert — the  former  a  much- 
rouged,  plump  brunette,  and  the  other  a  rather 
bulky  girl.  Also,  there  was  Mr.  Dabney,  whose 


16  UNEASY  STREET 

crisp  mustache  consorted  ill  with  the  black  ribbon 
from  which  suspended  his  eye-glasses. 

Apparently  they  were  conserving  energy  against 
the  later  evening,  for  they  had  not  been  dancing. 
Introductions  were  made  with  a  casualness  that 
surprised  Baird,  accustomed  to  the  stiff,  somewhat 
self-conscious  formality  of  Donchester.  Immedi- 
ately they  were  made,  Mrs.  Dabney  demanded  the 
attention  of  Jimmy  Ladd,  while  her  husband  leaned 
toward  Miss  Boffert.  Baird  settled  himself  in  his 
chair.  He  had  read,  in  Sunday  editions,  of  the 
Chummy  Club.  He  had  heard  Jimmy  Ladd  men- 
tion it.  Of  course,  he  had  known  that  it  was  not 
strictly  a  club,  that  it  was,  at  least,  semipublic. 
But  that  it  should  prove  to  be  merely  a  restaurant 
was  something  of  a  surprise. 

The  room — he  judged  correctly  that  there  were 
other  rooms,  private  dining-rooms  and  the  like — 
held  tables  sufficient  to  accommodate  perhaps  two 
hundred  people  comfortably.  But  to-night  there 
were  half  as  many  more  here,  seated  at  the  tables 
that  were  so  closely  jammed  together,  or  moving 
about  upon  the  dancing-floor  in  the  center  of  the 
room. 

Carnival  was  in  the  air.  Uniforms  predominated ; 
nevertheless,  there  was  no  lack  of  wine  upon  the 
tables. 

Watching  the  confetti  being  thrown,  observing 
the  toy  balloons  which  were  batted  around  by  the 
enthusiastic  merrymakers,  listening  to  the  ever- 
increasing  noise,  Baird  wondered  how  spontaneous 
it  all  was — how  much  of  it  was  due  to  alcohol,  and 


UNEASY  STREET  17 

how  much  to  natural  ebullience  of  spirit.  For  him- 
self, the  defiant  resentfulness  that  had  possessed 
him  when  he  entered  the  room  had  passed  away.  It 
was  without  self-consciousness  that  he  rescued  a 
balloon  from  Miss  Elsing's  auburn  head  and  threw 
it  at  a  pretty  blonde  at  the  next  table. 

"And  without  a  drink,  either,"  commented  the 
girl. 

He  looked  at  her. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"My  Puritan  friend" — she  shrugged  her  shoulders 
— "one  could  hardly  imagine  you,  a  moment  ago, 
able  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  this  affair.  You 
were  frowning,  angry " 

"Oh,  not  all  that !"  he  protested.  "I  was  looking 
for  Jimmy.  The  light  hurt  my  eyes,  and " 

"Why  prevaricate?  You  are  a  Puritan,  and 
you  were  shocked  when  you  came  in  here.  Well, 
I  hardly  blame  you.  To  return  from  the  trenches 
and  find — this."  She  looked  about  her,  her  lips 
faintly  curled,  her  eyes,  Baird  sensed,  a  trifle  hard, 
"And  now" — and  she  laughed  mockingly — "you  are 
doing  your  best  to  seem  a  bit  bored." 

"I'm  not,"  he   said  hotly. 

"No?    Are  you  really  bored?" 

"Of  course  not!     I — I'm  having — a  bully  time." 

"I'm  not,  then,  and  I  am  bored,"  she  tolcl  him. 
Her  voice  was  the  least  bit  petulant.  "I  warned 
Jimmy  that  we  shouldn't  start  out  until  after  the 
theater;  but  no — he  wouldn't  have  it.  Just  back 
from  France  and  waste  time  in  a  theater!  Still, 
perhaps  he  isn't  wasting  time  here." 


18  UNEASY  STREET 

Her  glance  at  Jimmy,  leaning  so  closely  toward 
the  pretty  Mrs.  Dabney,  was  explanatory  of  her 
words.  Baird  could  not  help  casting  his  eyes 
toward  Mrs.  Dabney's  husband.  But  if  that  gen- 
tleman was  conscious  of  the  flirtation  occurring  be- 
fore his  eyes,  he  was  not  too  concerned  about  it. 
The  dance-music  struck  up  again.  Miss  Elsing 
turned  to  Baird. 

"Are  you  really  a  worshiper  of  the  great  god 
Jazz,"  she  demanded,  "or  do  you  dance  so  well  be- 
cause you  have  no  other  accomplishments?" 

It  was  a  casual  impertinence.  To  resent  it  would 
be  to  dignify  it  too  greatly.  Yet  he  did  resent  it, 
because  it  seemed  to  him  that  this  girl  recognized 
him  for  what  he  was,  a  bookkeeper  stealing  a  few 
last  hours  before  returning  to  his  desk.  She  would 
hardly,  he  felt,  be  as  rude  to  some  one  in  her  own 
class.  Her  own  class!  It  was  his  own  mental 
phraseology,  but,  had  she  uttered  it  herself,  he  could 
not  have  been  more  angry. 

"Dancing  bores  me,"  he  said  curtly. 

"Me,  too,  Steve,"  she  said.  "Let's  get  out  of 
here."  At  his  blank  look,  she  laughed.  "Oh,  don't 
be  shocked  again.  This  is  New  Year's  eve.  And 
we're  all  to  meet  at  the  Central  at  twelve.  If  you 
can't  trust  yourself,  trust  me.*' 

He  rose  with  her.  They  drifted  across  the 
dancing-floor  together,  and  out  by  the  check-room. 
As  she  put  on  her  wraps  she  glanced  toward  the 
room  they  had  just  left. 

"Too   engrossed — both   couples,"   she   announced 


UNEASY  STREET  19 

shortly.  "They'll  not  miss  us  until  it's  time  to 
leave.  Carry  this,  please." 

"This"  was  a  diamond  pin.  Little  of  jewelry  as 
Baird  knew,  he  recognized  the  exquisite  taste  of  the 
ornament.  About  three  inches  long,  nine  diamonds 
were  set  in  platinum  filigree.  Five  of  the  stones 
weighed  perhaps  a  carat  apiece ;  the  other  four  were 
chips.  But  it  was  the  lovely  flawlessness  of  the 
five  larger  stones  that  won  Baird's  admiration. 
Pure  white,  they  flashed  in  the  electric  lights.  So 
brilliantly  did  they  gleam  to  the  furtive  eye  of  an 
extremely  white-faced  gentleman  about  to  surren- 
der his  coat  and  hat  to  the  attendant  that  he 
changed  his  mind. 

"It's  a  beauty!"  said  Baird. 

"It  is  effective,"  the  girl  admitted.  "But  I 
shouldn't  have  worn  it ;  the  clasp  is  loose.  And  as  a 
rather  dear — a  funny  little  aunt — gave  it  to  me  I 
should  hate  to  lose  it.  So — you  take  care  of  it." 

"I'll  be  most  careful,"  he  laughed.  He  dropped 
the  trinket  into  his  waistcoat  pocket.  The  white- 
faced  gentleman  drew  a  bit  nearer  to  them.  The 
girl  looked  up  at  Baird.  In  her  eyes  was  a  certain 
cool  hardness. 

"Please  do,"  she  said.  "I  should  hate  to  ask  you 
to  replace  it." 

She  did  not  notice  his  gasp  as  she  preceded  him 
through  the  revolving  door.  Again  that  resentment 
toward  her  possessed  him. 

Outside,  the  girl  looked  up  at  him.  Her  hand 
slipped  through  his  arm.  She  drew  close  to  him. 
The  coolness,  the  hardness  had  gone  from  her  eyes. 


20  UNEASY  STREET 

She  seemed,  for  the  moment,  confiding,  friendly. 
Her  nearness  exhilarated  him.  He  forgot  his  re- 
sentment completely.  Three  steps,  and  they  were 
swallowed  up  by  the  hilarious  throng.  So  many 
persons  bumped  against  him  that  he  ceased  to  notice 
it.  It  was  a  very  simple  matter  for  the  white-faced 
gentleman  to  abstract  from  his  waistcoat  pocket  the 
diamond  pin. 


II 


rilHE  Central,  while  not  the  city's  newest  hotel, 
A  was  one  of  its  most  fashionable.  The  crowd 
which  had  engaged  tables  in  its  dining-room  to- 
night apparently  was  made  up  of  exactly  the  same 
sort  of  people  whom  Baird  had  seen  at  the  Chummy 
Club. 

It  was  close  on  to  midnight  when  Eileen  Elsing 
and  her  companion  entered  the  main  dining-room  of 
the  big  hotel.  Baird  marveled  at  the  girl.  The 
girls  whom  he  had  left  behind  him  in  Donchester 
eighteen  months  or  so  ago  would  have  been  brazen 
to  leave  a  party  with  a  strange  man,  and  wander, 
unchaperoned,  for  more  than  two  hours  through 
the  crowded  city  streets.  Also,  he  was  quite  cer- 
tain that  even  had  they  dared  brave  the  conven- 
tions, they  would  never  have  braved  the  city  pave- 
ments in  dancing-slippers. 

Yet,  as  a  downward  glance  showed  him,  this 
girl's  slippers  showed  not  a  fleck  of  city  mud  on 
their  satin  tops.  She  was,  undoubtedly,  of  a  sort 
different  from  the  girls  of  Donchester. 

It  was  all  new  to  Baird.  Girls  of  Miss  Elsing's 
class — it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  he  knew 
nothing  of  her  station  in  life.  For  that  matter, 
beyond  the  fact  that  Jimmy  Ladd's  father  was 

21 


22  UNEASY  STREET 

wealthy,  he  knew  nothing  of  Jimmy's  social  posi- 
tion. It  had  never  interested  him. 

That  Miss  Elsing  was  a  young  woman  of  wealth 
he'd  assumed  from  her  presence  in  Jimmy  Ladd's 
party.  Not  that,  in  the  school  of  democracy  from 
which  he  had  just  been  discharged,  a  man's  money 
had  made  any  difference.  Still,  as  he'd  known  for 
a  year  or  more  that  Ladd  "traveled"  with  a  wealthy 
set,  he  had  been  content  with  the  quiet  assumption 
that  the  end  of  the  war  would  mean  the  termination 
of  a  pleasant  acquaintance.  Jimmy  Ladd  had,  it 
was  true,  mentioned  once  or  twice  that  his  father 
could  "use  a  bright  chap"  in  his  office.  But  Baird 
had  dismissed  Ladd's  well-meant  words  with  a  smile. 

But  now,  after  some  hours  in  the  company  of 
Eileen  Elsing,  Donchester  began  to  seem  less  like 
home  and  more  like  jail.  The  girl  intrigued  him. 

Hardly  had  they  left  the  Chummy  Club  when 
they  were  swept  away  by  the  hilarious  crowd.  A 
well-dressed  crowd,  too,  for  the  most  part.  Baird 
had  never  seen  so  many  men  and  women  in  evening 
dress  outside  of  a  theater  or  ball.  Women  wore 
evening  clothes  on  the  street  here,  apparently  on 
their  way  from  theater  to  restaurant.  In  Don- 
chester, evening  clothes  were  "occasions."  Here 
they  were  matters  casual.  It  was  another  mark 
of  New  York's  uniqueness.  As  far  as  Times  Square 
they  had  pushed  their  way,  jostling  and  being 
jostled.  At  first,  Baird  had  wanted  to  resent  the 
men  who  leered,  who  thrust  feathers  into  the  face 
of  the  girl.  But  her  own  good-humored  acceptance 
of  the  night  and  its  follies  had  shamed  him  into 


UNEASY  STREET  23 

acquiescence.  A  bit  out  of  breath,  they  reached 
the  Tramby. 

"Let's  have  a  drink,"  she  proposed. 

"You're  improving,"  she  told  him,  a  few  moments 
later.  They  had  managed  to  crowd  into  the  Tram- 
by  grill,  and  she  had  ordered  a  high-ball.  Baird 
was  sipping  ginger-ale. 

"Yes?"  he  said. 

She  drank  rather  deeply. 

"Uh-huh,"  she  nodded.  "You're  recovering  from 
shock.  I  should  say  that  you'll  be  completely  cured 
in  another  hour  or  so.  You  may  even  order  a  drink 
for  yourself." 

He  felt  himself  blush. 

"I  drink  occasionally,"  he  said  shortly. 

"Every  eight  or  ten  years,  eh?"  She  did  not 
jeer.  Her  voice,  as  always,  seemed  lazily  indiffer- 
ent. Yet  Baird  read  into  it  something  of  scorn. 

"A  bit  more  often  than  that,"  he  declared.  "But 
in  the  army — well,  it  can't  very  well  be  done." 

She  looked  about  the  room. 

"Nevertheless — it  seems  to  be  done,"  she  an- 
nounced. For  here,  as  in  the  Chummy  Club,  uni- 
forms predominated. 

He  made  no  answer.  He  suddenly  remembered 
that  he  had  a  ticket  for  the  eleven-o'clock  train. 

A  few  hours  ago,  that  departure  had  seemed  the 
only  course  in  the  world  for  him  to  follow.  New 
York  meant  nothing  to  him.  But  now — New  Year's 
celebrations  were  a  novelty  to  him.  This  girl  was 
a  novelty.  He  might  never  see  the  like  of  either 
again. 


24  UNEASY  STREET 

"Let's  go,"  she  said  suddenly.  "I  want  to  walk 
some  more." 

The  waiter  brought  him  the  check.  Baird  smoth- 
ered a  whistle.  The  Tramby  grill  taxed  its  patrons 
a  dollar  cover-charge.  Of  course,  it  was  New  Year's 
eve,  but — three  dollars  and  forty-five  cents  for  two 
drinks!  Nevertheless,  he  flattered  himself  that  h£ 
was  correctly  nonchalant  as  he  gave  the  waiter 
four  dollars. 

At  the  door  of  the  grill-room,  he  hesitated  a 
moment. 

"I  intended  to  leave  on  the  eleven  o'clock  for  Don- 
chester,  Miss  Elsing,  but " 

She  cast  him  a  glance  over  her  shoulder. 

"To-morrow  is  another  day,"  she  told  him.  "The 
trains  will  still  be  running." 

Once  again  they  were  in  the  street,  buffeted  by 
the  crowds.  What  it  was  about  her  that  conquered 
him  Baird  could  not  tell.  She  was  handsome,  boldly 
handsome,  but  he  had  seen  more  beautiful  women. 
She  had  charm,  of  a  sort,  but  he  had  encountered 
greater.  That  she  was  a  lady,  even,  he  could  not 
be  sure.  Certainly,  the  ladies  of  Donchester  would 
hesitate  at  drinking  high-balls  in  public  cafes.  He 
glanced  surreptitiously  at  his  watch.  It  was  ten- 
thirty;  he  had  time  in  which  to  attend  to  his  bags 
and  catch  the  train.  He  said  no  more  about  leav- 
ing. Arm  in  arm,  they  fought  their  way  up  Broad- 
way. 

Jimmy  Ladd  was  waiting  for  them  in  the  lobby 
of  the  Central. 

"Swift  work,  Eileen!"  he  said,  with  a  grin.     To 


UNEASY  STREET  25 

Baird,  "I  suppose  that  you've  shouted,  'KameradT 
into  her  shell-like  ears?" 

Baird  colored.  He  was  becoming  annoyed  with 
himself  at  his  lack  of  apt  retort,  at  his  easy 
blushing. 

"Hustle,"  said  Ladd.     "The  crowd's  all  inside." 

A  long  table  had  been  prepared  for  Ladd's  guests 
at  the  Central.  Around  it  were  fifteen  or  sixteen 
people.  This  time,  Ladd  made  no  pretense  of  in- 
troduction. Dabney  affixed  his  eye-glasses  and 
stared  at  the  late  arrivals.  His  crisp  mustache  was 
not  so  jaunty  now,  and  his  devotion  to  Miss  Boffert 
was  more  pronounced. 

Baird  looked  down  the  table.  Jimmy  Ladd's  ac- 
quaintance was  most  catholic.  He  tried  to  satisfy 
himself  as  to  the  occupations,  the  importance,  of 
the  persons  at  the  party.  He  gave  it  up.  Good- 
naturedly  noisy,  all  of  them,  the  most  riotous  seemed 
to  be  those  whose  hair,  if  they  were  women,  was 
grayest,  or  whose  heads,  if  they  were  men,  were 
baldest. 

One  thing  they  were  remarkable  for — their  cloth- 
ing. At  least,  they  were  remarkable  judged  by  Don- 
chester  standards.  He  knew  enough  of  women's 
clothing  to  realize  that  Mrs.  Dabney's  simple- 
appearing  black-lace  frock  must  have  cost  several 
hundred  dollars.  And  the  yellow  gown  that  Eileen 
Elsing  wore  did  more  than  hint  of  money. 

But  it  was  the  clothing  of  the  men  that  amazed 
him.  In  Donchester,  the  putting-on  of  evening 
clothes  was  still  something  of  a  ceremony.  Men 


26  UNEASY  STREET 

wore  them  a  trifle  self-consciously,  as,  in  an  earlier 
generation,  they  wore  their  Sunday  suits. 

But  in  New  York,  practically  every  one  who  was 
not  in  uniform  dressed  for  the  evening.  And,  some- 
how, they  seemed  to  be  comfortable,  to  have  none 
of  the  difficulties  with  collar  and  tie  and  obtrusive 
shirt-front  that  always  annoyed  Baird.  Even  Dab- 
ney,  a  trifle  rumpled  now,  had  in  his  garb  a  certain 
nicety  of  cut  that  was  foreign  to  Baird's  experi- 
ence, that  rumpling  could  not  take  away. 

Who  were  these  people,  anyway?  If  quiet  was 
one  of  the  first  requisites  of  gentility — as  he  had 
been  brought  up  to  believe — these  people  were  not 
gently  born.  Yet,  it  was  a  celebration.  And  it  was 
the  sort  of  celebration  that  Baird  would  have  as- 
sumed would  naturally  have  been  confined  to  youth. 
Only,  in  New  York,  there  were  no  old.  That,  if  any- 
thing, was  the  great  outstanding  fact  of  the  evening. 
In  Donchester,  men  definitely  surrendered  their 
claims  to  young  women  at  forty.  In  New  York,  ap- 
parently, men  surrendered  their  claims  at  death, 
and  not  before. 

Nor  was  it,  oddly  enough,  disgusting.  He  rather 
liked  the  old  blades  of  Manhattan.  Why  should  a 
man  yield  his  patent  leathers  to  carpet  slippers  if 
he  didn't  choose  to?  The  poets  sometimes  rhapso- 
dized over  the  graceful  slipping  into  old  age.  Well, 
who  loves  a  quitter?  And  in  this  city,  the  home 
of  ambitious  youth,  he  was  a  quitter  who  relin- 
quished youth. 

Baird  saw  Jimmy  Ladd  on  the  dancing-floor,  hold- 
ing closely  to  him  a  pale,  blonde  girl.  Quite  with- 


UNEASY  STREET  27 

out  meaning  to,  Baird  cast  a  questioning  look  at 
Mrs.  Dabney.  But  in  that  lady's  eyes  was  only  a 
good-natured  tolerance.  He  turned  to  Miss  Elsing. 

"Shall  we  dance?"  he  suggested. 

She  yawned  frankly. 

"I'm  tired  from  the  walk.  What  an  asinine  way 
to  spend  an  evening!" 

"Thank  you,"  said  Baird  curtly. 

She  laughed. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  you.  But — all  this.  To 
shout  and  cavort  and  make  fools  of  ourselves — I 
simply  can't  do  it  without  liquor.  Join  me?  It 
might  enliven  you?" 

The  barb  in  her  voice,  more  than  in  her  words, 
stung.  He  had  been  in  the  girl's  company  more 
than  two  hours — had  had  her  all  alone — and  the 
result,  for  her,  had  been  boredom.  And  yet  he 
knew,  without  vanity,  that  he  didn't  bore  most 
women.  He  damned  the  self-consciousness  that, 
he  thought,  rendered  him  tongue-tied  with  this  girl. 

He  felt  suddenly  angry  with  himself.  Why  the 
devil  had  he  missed  his  train?  Who  was  this  girl, 
anyway?  What  did  he  care  whether  she  liked  him, 
whether  she  thought  him  amusing?  As  for  needing 
liquor  to  loosen  his  tongue,  he  could  talk  well  enough 
without  it,  if  the  girl  only  knew  it,  and — he  reached 
for  a  glass.  Then  he  reached  for  another. 

Now,  an  old-fashioned  whisky  cocktail  and  a  glass 
of  champagne  merely  open  the  eyes  of  some  men. 
Others  they  put  to  sleep.  Others  strike  a  happy 
medium.  Baird  had  been  absolutely  "on  the  wagon" 
for  twenty  months.  The  whisky  and  wine  at  first 


28 

warmed  him.  Then  his  eyes  became  slightly  blurred 
and  his  voice  thick.  Then  his  vision  grew  extraor- 
dinarily keen  and  his  voice  remarkably  clear  and 
distinct. 

"Shall  we  dance?"  he  asked  the  girl  again. 

She  eyed  him  amusedly. 

"If  you  wish,"  she  assented. 

The  room  was  stifling.  His  throat  was  parched 
when  they  reached  their  seats  again.  Two  more 
glasses  of  champagne  joined  the  other  tributes  to 
the  occasion. 

Suddenly  the  lights  went  out.  It  was  midnight. 
The  New  Year  had  arrived.  The  extra  glasses  of 
wine  gave  Baird  a  fictitious  boldness.  In  the  dark- 
ness, Miss  Elsing  lighted  a  cigarette.  Her  red  lips 
gleamed  as  vividly,  to  his  heated  imagination,  as  the 
flame  of  the  match  which  she  held.  And  as  the 
match  was  tossed  away  and  her  lighted  cigarette 
came  away  from  her  mouth,  he  leaned  forward. 

His  kiss  was  returned!  There  was  no  doubt 
about  that.  The  first  lips  that  his  own  had  touched 
in  two  years  welcomed  the  salutation.  Then,  as  he 
would  have  kissed  her  again,  a  pair  of  soft  hands 
pressed  against  his  cheeks,  and  the  mouth  so  close 
to  his  own  was  withdrawn. 

The  din  in  the  room  was  terrific,  yet  Baird  was 
unconscious  of  it.  The  humming  in  his  ears  drowned 
all  external  noise.  The  lights  flashed  on  again.  He 
found  himself,  with  the  others  standing  up,  waving 
a  champagne-glass,  and  shrieking  welcome  to  the 
New  Year.  But  he  saw  only  Eileen  Elsing. 

He  leaned  toward  her,  but  Jimmy  Ladd  was  ahead 


UNEASY  STREET  29 

of  him.  He  saw  her  whisked  away  in  Jimmy's  arms. 
Surely  no  one  in  the  world  danced  as  divinely  as 
Eileen  Elsing.  Heedless  of  the  invitation  in  the  eyes, 
of  other  women  guests  of  Ladd,  he  poured  himself 
a  glass  of  wine  and  continued  staring  at  Eileen. 
Dance  with  anyone  else?  Not  he! 

Of  course  it  was  all  right  for  Eileen  to  dance  with 
Jimmy,  to  dance  with  anyone.  She  was  perfect. 
She  could  do  no  wrong.  And  Jimmy — bless  his  dear 
heart ! — had  introduced  Baird  to  Eileen.  Jimmy 
would  always  be  their  dearest  friend. 

"It's  all  right,  Jimmy,"  he  said  to  that  gay  young 
gentleman  as  the  dance  ended  and  the  couple  re- 
turned to  the  table. 

"What's  all  right,  Roddy  me  boy?"  asked  La^d. 

Baird  beamed  benevolently.  Genial  kindness  ex- 
uded from  him.  Some  men  fight;  some  men  cry; 
some  are  happy;  some  are  morose.  Liquor  is  the 
most  versatile  thing  in  the  world.  No  effects  are 
beyond  its  power.  It  made  Baird  tolerant,  gen- 
erous. 

"Your  dancing  with  Eileen,"  he  replied.  "No  ob- 
jection to  it  at  all,  Jimmy.  Dance  with  her  when- 
ever you  want.  I  like  to  watch  you." 

Ladd  eyed  his  guest  critically. 

"Gets  you  pretty  quick,  doesn't  it,  Rod?'* 

Baird  nodded  heavily,  ponderously. 

"Minute  I  saw  her — knew  it."  He  placed  his 
hand  upon  his  heart.  "Dance,  Eileen?" 

Miss  Elsing  grinned  at  Jimmy  Ladd.  To  Baird, 
she  replied: 


30  UNEASY  STREET 

"Let's  sit  it  out.  And  let's  have  a  little  some- 
thing to  cool  off." 

She  did  not  offer  the  least  objection  as  Baird 
held  her  hand. 

It  was  almost  impossible  to  converse  any  longer. 
Nineteen-nineteen  was  coming  in  with  a  bang.  It 
was  immensely  thrilling.  What  a  friendly  sort  New 
Yorkers  were!  Welcomed  a  fellow  in  quite  as 
though  they'd  known  him  all  their  lives,  and —  He 
tried  to  say  something  of  this  to  Miss  Elsing,  but 
she  evidently  misunderstood  him.  However,  she 
smiled  and  held  out  her  glass.  Baird  poured  cham- 
pagne into  it. 

Some  drops  fell  on  the  girl's  hand.  He  bent  over 
and  kissed  them  away.  He  looked  up  angrily  as  a 
shout  of  laughter  came  from  the  end  of  the  table. 
But  it  was  only  that  Mr.  Dabney  had  come  to  life. 

The  difficulty  with  the  Waiters'  Union  had  re- 
sulted in  the  engaging  of  girls  as  waitresses  at  the 
Central.  An  extremely  pretty  girl  had  just  served 
Mr.  Dabney  with  something.  Inspiration  had  come 
to  him  as  he  started  to  tip  her. 

"Worth  just  fifty  cents,  m'dear,  if  I  put  it  in 
your  hand.  Worth  five  dollars  if  I  put  it  in  your 
stocking.  What  say?" 

The  waitress  essayed  coyness,  but  failed  in  the 
endeavor.  Five  dollars  was  five  dollars.  She  turned 
slightly  to  one  side;  her  skirt  was  raised;  into  her 
stocking-top  Dabney  slipped  the  five-dollar  bill. 

No  invention  of  modern  history  has  ever  been 
acclaimed  with  the  enthusiasm  that  greeted  Mr. 
Dabncy's  strikingly  original  idea.  There  was  a  yell 


UNEASY  STREET  31 

from  Ladd's  table;  as  explanation  shot  about  the 
room,  hilarity  reached  its  highest  pitch.  Immedi- 
ately a  dozen  girls  stood  close  to  tables,  while  un- 
steady hands  that  held  bills  fumbled  at  the  tops  of 
stockings. 

Baird's  eyes  were  frightened  as  he  turned  to  Miss 
Elsing.  But  he  reconsidered  his  offer  to  take  her 
home  as  he  saw  the  mirth  in  her  eyes,  the  broad 
smile  on  her  lips. 

The  disgust  left  his  own  eyes.  Honi  soit  qui  mal 
y  pense!  After  all,  evil  was  in  the  thought,  not  in 
the  deed.  It  really,  when  you  stopped  to  think  of 
it,  was  something  of  a  lark,  this  idea  of  Dabney's. 

He  reached  into  his  waistcoat  pocket  as  the 
waitress  passed  by  him.  He  touched  her  on  the 
arm.  She  turned,  and  her  face  was  vaguely  familiar. 
Somewhere,  sometime,  he'd  seen  her.  But  he  could 
not  place  her  now.  He  drew  her  near  to  him;  he 
tipped  her  exactly  as  Dabney  had  done.  The  girl 
laughed,  thanked  him,  and  moved  on.  He  turned 
to  Eileen  for  approval. 

"You  warm  up  as  the  evening  progresses,"  she 
told  him. 

Jimmy  Ladd  was  settling  with  a  head  waiter  for 
the  party.  Baird  joined  him. 

"Hadn't  we  better  have  more  wine?"  he  asked. 

Obsequiously  the  waiter  took  his  order.  Five 
minutes  later,  the  check  was  presented.  Hotels  are 
rather  careful  about  these  matters  on  New  Year's 
eve. 

Baird  fished  in  his  pocket.  He  drew  forth  several 
bills.  Horror  suddenly  came  to  him.  Of  his  army 


82  UNEASY  STREET 

savings,  he  had  had  one  hundred  and  thirty  dollars 
left  after  paying  for  his  new  clothing.  Now  he  had 
something  like  seventeen  dollars.  He  had,  undoubt- 
edly, put  a  hundred-dollar  bill  in  the  stocking  of  the 
pretty  waitress.  He  could  feel  perspiration  on  his 
forehead.  What  would  Miss  Elsing  think? 

"Oh,  Jimmy !"  he  said.  "Haven't  any  money  with 
me — I'm  a  fearful  ass.  Would  you  mind " 

"Surest  thing!"  And  Jimmy  handed  him  a  wad 
of  bills.  Baird  selected  a  hundred.  He  paid  the 
waiter.  Magnificently  he  waved  the  change — a  mat- 
ter of  twenty  dollars — away.  For  by  now  he  was 
talking  with  Eileen  again. 

He  was  in  the  midst  of  an  ardent  declaration,  to 
which  the  girl  listened  smilingly,  when  a  slim  man, 
of  forty-five,  perhaps,  groomed  to  the  point  of 
affectation,  joined  the  party.  Immediately  he  ap- 
propriated Eileen.  She  seemed  not  at  all  unwilling 
to  be  appropriated.  Taken  aback,  Baird  surveyed 
the  ivory  shoulder  that  she  turned  to  him.  Angry 
speech  trembled  on  his  lips  when  Ladd  touched 
him. 

"Lay  off,  Roddy !"  warned  Jimmy.  "You've  been 
playing  with  the  same  engagement  long  enough. 
Lots  of  other  pretty  girls  here  would  like  to  talk 
to  you.  And  Sam  Blackmar  is  one  of  these  all-or- 
nothing  people,  you  know." 

"No;  I  didn't  know,"  snapped  Baird.  "Who  is 
he?  Who  invited  him  to " 

"I  invited  him  here,"  interrupted  Jimmy  dryly. 
,Then  he  grinned.  "Cheer  up,  old  top!  And  give 
the  girl  a  chance.  Unless  some  handsome  black- 


UNEASY  STREET  33 

guard  like  yourself  interferes,  she's  going  to  be  real 
sensible  and  make  a  few  millions  quicker  than  you 
or  I  ever  will." 

"Yes?    You  mean " 

"Why,  I  mean  that  she's  going  to  marry  him — 
if  she's  sane,"  said  Ladd. 

"  'Sane?'  "  Baird's  laugh  was  unpleasant.  Jimmy 
Ladd  never  knew  how  nearly  Baird  came  to  driving 
his  glass  into  the  other's  face.  Then  Baird  laughed 
again.  He  lifted  the  glass,  but  to  his  own  lips. 
As  Eileen  rose  and  surrendered  her  slim  waist  to 
Blackmar,  Baird  quietly  stole  away  from  the  party. 

There  was  gaiety  enough  in  the  restaurants  and 
hotels  of  Fifth  Avenue  still.  The  limousines  and 
taxis,  whose  drivers  dozed  on  their  seats  as  they 
waited  for  the  revelers,  were  proof  enough  of  that. 

But  the  street  itself  was  lonesome.  He  turned 
toward  Broadway,  past  rows  of  dwelling-houses, 
dark,  quiet,  out  of  place  so  near  the  Central  and 
its  kindred  resorts,  yet  suggesting  a  wholesomeness 
not  observable  in  the  restaurants. 

The  crisp  air  soothed  Baird's  temples.  He  was 
conscious  of  having  drunk  too  much;  a  bad  to- 
morrow confronted  him.  The  wandering  taxi-man 
who  halted  beside  him  failed  to  win  a  fare.  The 
air,  the  exercise  of  the  walk — Baird  wanted  these 
things. 

But  Broadway  was  little  more  attractive  than  the 
Avenue.  Its  crowds,  too,  had  vanished.  Confetti, 
torn  ticklers,  broken  horns,  dismantled  rattles,  silent 
cow-bells  strewed  the  streets.  The  lights  were 
dimmed.  The  atmosphere  held  something  ghostly, 


34  UNEASY  STREET 

something  chill.  Unconsciously  he  quickened  his 
steps.  He  felt,  he  imagined,  as  a  scrub-woman  who 
comes  to  a  room  that  has  held  a  banquet  must  feel. 
Half-eaten  viands,  bottles,  bedraggled  table-linen, 
scattered  chairs —  Broadway  seemed  like  this. 
There  is  no  place  so  lonesome  as  a  place  that  has 
been  recently  filled  with  people.  No  desert  is  as 
vacant  as  a  summer  resort  in  the  winter.  It  is  be- 
cause people  leave  behind  them  something  intangi- 
ble, something  of  the  spirit  that  has  animated  them. 
Deserts  are  not  filled  with  ghosts ;  empty  houses  are. 

Now,  in  the  faint  hour  before  dawn,  Broadway, 
almost  deserted  of  people — though  lights  still 
gleamed  in  the  restaurants — was  filled  with  ghosts. 
Baird  quickened  his  steps.  The  glamour  was  gone. 
How  foolish  to  have  seen  any  glamour  there  at  all! 

Yet  that  attitude  was  unjust.  The  curtain  de- 
scends on  the  play ;  the  stage  is  cleared ;  the  scenery 
is  hoisted  aloft  or  piled  away.  Yet,  if  the  play 
has  been  entertaining,  who  regrets  the  time  spent 
in  listening  to  it? 

So,  he  had  not  been  foolish  to  see  glamour  to- 
night. If  Broadway  and  the  Avenue  had  been  repre- 
sentative of  New  York — people  undoubtedly  became 
intoxicated  at  county  fairs,  but  does  one  condemn 
the  fair?  To-night,  had  he  been  in  the  mood  for 
it,  he  would  have  felt  the  great  reaction  from  the 
stress  of  war;  he  would  have  seen  a  million  people 
expressing  their  joy  at  merely  being  alive.  Liquor 
did  not  make  the  celebration;  it  was  merely  an  in- 
considerable portion  of  it  for  the  great  majority. 

He  stopped  at  the  entrance  to  the  Tramby.     The 


UNEASY  STREET  35 

great  majority!  To  the  north,  east,  west,  and  even 
south  were  homes — real  homes,  with  real  people. 
With  kindly  people,  too.  Not  one  quarrel  had  he 
observed  in  the  streets  to-night.  Kindly,  decent  peo- 
ple. He  looked  up  Longacre  Square.  The  great 
hotels,  the  tall  office-buildings — these  were  the  monu- 
ments that  had  been  builded  by  the  people  whom 
he  had  seen  at  play  to-night.  New  York  could  be 
gay,  but,  in  the  chill  dawn  after  a  night  of  revelry, 
one  was  more  conscious  of  New  York's  ability  to 
work  than  of  its  penchant  for  play. 

He  drew  in  a  last  breath  of  air  and  entered  the 
hotel.  It  was  overheated;  he  had  hardly  reached 
the  elevator  before  the  headache  that  had  been 
threatening  him  arrived.  He  was  nodding  when 
he  reached  his  door. 

He  had  always  been  a  methodical  sort  of  per- 
son, and  the  army  had  accentuated  this  trait  in 
him.  Always  he  placed  his  effects  in  an  orderly 
row  upon  his  dresser — pocketbook,  fountain  pen, 
keys,  money.  He  grimaced  as  he  counted  the  lat- 
ter. Less  than  three  dollars!  Suddenly  the  blur 
of  the  evening's  recollections  left  him.  Events  stood 
out  sharply.  He  had  borrowed  a  hundred  dollars 
from  Jimmy  Ladd.  Well,  after  all,  he  needn't  repay 
that  immediately.  As  for  his  hotel  bill,  he  could 
pawn  his  wrist-watch.  His  face  grew  suddenly 
blank  as  his  fingers,  dipping  into  his  waistcoat 
pocket,  failed  to  encounter  Eileen  Elsing's  pin. 
Slowly,  then  frantically,  he  searched  his  other 
pockets.  It  was  gone!  He  sat  down  on  the  edge 
of  the  bed.  What  was  it  the  girl  had  said?  That 


36  UNEASY  STREET 

she  would  hate  to  ask  him  to  replace  it?  He  ex- 
haled heavily.  That  meant  that  she  would  not 
hesitate  to  do  so,  if  he  remembered  correctly  the 
expression  in  her  eyes. 

But  even  if  she  didn't  ask  him  to  replace  it,  how 
long  would  he  be  content  to  remain  under  any  obli- 
gation to  a  girl  who  flirted  with  one  man,  kissed 
him,  while  she  was  cold-bloodedly  planning  to  marry, 
for  money,  another  man  twice  her  age? 

He  stared  down  between  his  knees.  Something 
protruded  from  under  the  bed.  He  pulled  it  out. 
It  was  a  worn,  canvas-covered  steamer-trunk,  small, 
unfashionable.  A  porter,  doubtless,  had  put  it  in 
his  room  by  mistake.  Savagely  he  kicked  at  the  un- 
offending box.  It  disappeared  under  the  bed.  To- 
morrow he'd  notify  the  office —  He'd  lost  Eileen 
Elsing's  pin.  That  was  the  only  thought  of  which 
he  was  capable.  He  wondered  what  it  was  worth? 
A  thousand  dollars?  It  was  long  before  uneasy 
slumber  came  to  him. 


in 


1T)AIN  is  the  most  vital  thing  in  the  world.  If 
A  conscience  worked  directly  upon  anatomy,  there 
would  be  fewer  sinners.  That  is  why  drunkards  are 
always  much  more  remorseful  than  burglars. 
Drunkards  are  certain  to  pay  within  twenty-four 
hours.  Burglars  may  escape  for  years. 

Baird  had  slept  heavily.  But  now,  as  he  pain- 
fully opened  his  eyelids,  he  was  sure  that  he  had 
not  slept  more  than  half  an  hour,  although  his 
wrist-watch  told  him  that  it  was  almost  two  o'clock. 
Only  the  sternest  critic  would  have  accused  him  of 
having  been  intoxicated  last  night,  but — memory 
was  a  bit  inactive,  and  his  limbs  ached.  Intoxi- 
cated or  not,  he  had  drunk  too  much. 

He'd  missed  his  train  home.  But  that  could 
hardly  be  blamed  to  liquor.  He'd  decided  to  miss 
it  before  he'd  had  a  single  drink.  Because  a  girl, 
of  a  sort  different  from  any  he  had  hitherto  known, 
intrigued  him,  he  had  stayed  over. 

A  girl  of  a  different  sort.  Yes;  she  was  all  of 
that.  She  was  the  sort  who  willingly  exchanged 
her  youth  and  beauty  for  money.  He  sneered  at 
himself.  What  difference  did  it  make  to  him? 

Suddenly  he  closed  his  eyes ;  memory  was  less 
sluggish.  Brilliantly,  despite  his  lids,  there  danced 

37 


38  UNEASY  STREET 

before  his  eyes  a  pin — of  platinum — from  which 
glistened  nine  diamonds.  Memory  was  racing  now. 
How  she  had  hesitated  when  she  said  that  an  aunt 
had  given  it  to  her !  Aunt ! 

But  what  difference  did  it  make  to  him  who  had 
given  it  to  her?  Except  that,  of  course,  he  would 
be  even  more  anxious  to  replace  a  gift  from  Black- 
mar  than  one  from  an  aunt.  Why,  he  did  not 
know.  It  was  just  so.  Hurt,  angry  pride  made 
him  forget,  for  the  moment,  his  aches. 

What  an  ass  he'd  made  of  himself  last  night! 
The  hundred  dollars  that  he  had  borrowed  from 
Ladd,  the  pin  that  he'd  lost — for  the  moment  he 
waved  these  matters  aside,  while  memory  brooded 
bitterly  upon  his  attitude  toward  Eileen  Elsing. 
He  supposed  the  girl  flattered  herself  that  she'd 
made  a  conquest.  He  sat  up  in  bed  and  swung  his 
feet  to  the  floor. 

A  cold  bath,  breakfast,  the  raising  of  some  money 
on  his  watch —  On  the  floor,  right  at  his  foot,  was 
a  bill.  His  brows  drew  together  as  he  bent  over 
and  picked  it  up.  A  hundred-dollar  bill !  Where  on 
earth —  Ladd  had  given  him  a  hundred.  But  he 
had  spent  that.  His  own  hundred-dollar  bill  had 
been  slipped  into  the  waitress's  stocking  at  the  Cen- 
tral. But  had  it?  He'd  been  drinking.  He  might 
easily  have  made  a  mistake.  And  when  he'd  turned 
in  last  night,  perhaps  he  hadn't  been  as  methodically 
careful  as  he  imagined.  He  had  doubtless  dropped 
this  on  the  floor.  His  telephone-bell  rang.  The 
bill  clutched  in  his  hand,  he  walked  to  the  instru- 
ment. 


UNEASY  STREET  39 

"Good-morning,  Indian!  How  you  feeling?"  It 
was  Jimmy  Ladd,  as  cheerful  as  though  his  last 
night's  festivities  had  had  milk  as  their  inspirational 
base. 

"Sort  of  so-so,"  said  Baird. 

"You  ran  out  on  us,"  accused  Ladd. 

"It  was  a  bit  too  strong  for  me,"  apologized 
Baird. 

"For  you  ?  Not  if  you  got  into  the  proper  train- 
ing, old  top.  I  think  you've  an  honest-to-God 
talent  for  being  a  rum-hound,  Rod.  Of  course, 
you're  out  of  practise  and  all  that,  but  you  have 
a  way  of  leaping  at  the  old  juice,  and  enveloping 
it,  and  making  it  feel  at  home  that  I  envy." 

"Was  I  as  bad  as  that?"  asked  Baird. 

Ladd  laughed. 

"  'Course  not.  Except  for  a  minute  or  two, 
when  I  thought  you'd  pull  Blackmar  apart  to  see 
what  made  him  tick." 

"What  does  make  him  tick?"  demanded  Baird. 

"He  doesn't.  He  shrieks  to  heaven.  It's  the  kale 
that  does  it  for  him.  Do  you  suppose  Eileen  Elsing 
could  hear  him  if  it  wasn't  for  that?" 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  Miss  Elsing." 

The  laugh  that  came  over  the  wire  was  extremely 
distasteful  to  him. 

"Why  try  to  deceive  your  uncle  James?"  de- 
manded Ladd.  "Why,  if  I  introduced  a  man  to 
Eileen  and  he  didn't  spend  at  least  a  week  doing 
nothing  else  but  think  of  her,  I'd  drop  his  acquain- 
tance !  There'd  be  something  wrong  with  that  man." 

"Oh,  she's  very  nice,"  said  Baird  shortly. 


40  UNEASY  STREET 

"  'Very  nice !' "  mimicked  Ladd.  "She's  a  per- 
fect corker — that's  what  Eileen  is  !" 

"And  is  going  to  marry  a  man  for  his  money," 
sneered  Baird. 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  say  that,"  argued  Ladd.  "Black- 
mar's  kept  out  of  jail  so  far,  and  he  has  a  remark- 
able taste  in  neckties.  And  a  man  who  can  make 
eight  or  ten  millions  isn't  exactly  a  human  zero." 

"I  suppose  not,"  said  Baird  stiffly. 

"Had  breakfast?"  demanded  Ladd  abruptly. 

"Just  woke  up." 

"Then  I'll  come  over  and  you  can  weep  on  my 
shoulder  about  Eileen,  and  I'll  weep  on  yours." 

It  was  rather  crude  of  Jimmy  to  harp  on  Miss 
Elsing,  but  still  Baird  supposed  that  he  had  given 
cause  for  it. 

"What  are  you  weeping  about?"  he  demanded. 

"Me?"  Ladd's  laugh  was  not  quite  as  care-free 
now.  "Have  I  ever,  Roddy  me  buck,  intimated  that 
my  esteemed  father  is  no  unchastened  hellion?" 

"I  think  that  you  once  said  that  he'd  rather  chase 
up  a  church  aisle  than  Broadway,"  answered  Baird. 

"You  quote  me  accurately,"  declared  Ladd. 
"And  perhaps,  in  some  moment  of  girlish  confidence, 
I  have  painted  a  portrait  of  myself  in  the  charac- 
ter of  the  erring  son." 

"I  seem  to  remember  something  like  that,"  ad- 
mitted Baird. 

"Yea,  bo!  'Never  darken  my  door  again!' 
That's  father.  He  used  to  be  able  to  repeat  it 
backward.  And  then  I  joined  the  army.  For- 
given? I  almost  drowned  beneath  his  forgiveness. 


UNEASY  STREET  41 

And  then  I  returned  from  France,  and  got  my  dis- 
charge, and  the  glamour  wore  off  when  I  dallied 
with  the  grape,  and — well,  father  delivered  his 
famous  lecture  again  this  morning.  I  am  no  longer 
Little  Sunshine,  the  Hero  Heir.  I  am  Door-Dark- 
ener,  the  Profligate.  He  happened  to  be  slumbering 
lightly  this  morning  when  I  crashed  into  the  an- 
cestral mansion,  and  he  even  neglected  the  office  to- 
day, in  order  that  he  might  parentally  pry  open  my 
eyes.  I've  forgotten  the  verbiage  of  the  ultimatum, 
but  the  gist  of  it  is:  'On  your  way!'  Bless  his 
dear  old  heart,  I'm  a  fearful  rotter,  and  in  three 
or  four  days,  when  he's  begun  to  miss  me,  I'll  trot 
home  and  explain  to  him  that  New  Year's  doesn't 
happen  often,  and  isn't  going  to  happen  at  all  if  the 
Prohibitionists  get  their  way.  But  I've  talked 
enough.  I'll  be  over  in  twenty  minutes." 

Baird's  mouth  was  hard  as  he  hung  up  the  tele- 
phone. Jimmy  hadn't  said  so,  hadn't  even  hinted 
it,  but  the  intimation  was  there.  Ladd  could  use 
the  hundred  that  he  had  loaned  Baird  last  night. 
Jimmy  would  never  be  crude  enough  to  say  so,  but 
•• — Baird  was  glad  that  he  had  not  tipped  the 
waitress  so  generously  last  night.  Thank  heaven 
that  he  could  settle  the  debt  to  Jimmy  at  once! 

He  stepped  hurriedly  beneath  the  shower.  The 
cold  spray  revived  him  physically,  and  mentally, 
too.  Of  course  he'd  been  an  utter  jackass,  but  it 
was  all  in  the  game  of  life,  he  supposed.  Lots  of 
men,  through  no  particular  fault  of  their  own,  suf- 
fered accidents  entailing  much  more  serious  conse- 
quences than  the  replacing  of  a  diamond  pin. 


42  UNEASY  STREET 

And  Eileen  Elsing  would  receive  a  new  diamond 
pin.  Most  certainly  she  would! 

In  Linestream,  a  suburb  of  Donchester,  there  was 
a  corner  lot.  Before  the  war,  Baird  had  been  offered 
fifteen  hundred  dollars  for  the  property,  which  rep- 
resented the  entire  savings  of  his  father.  Of  course, 
prices  had  dropped  a  bit,  but  there  wasn't  the 
slightest  doubt  that  he  could  get  a  thousand  dollars 
for  it  half  an  hour  after  he  notified  any  one  of  a 
dozen  real-estate  firms  that  it  was  in  the  market. 
His  own  firm,  Robbins  &  Robbins —  But  no;  he'd 
rather  not  say  anything  about  it  to  them.  Both  the 
Robbinses  were  prosy  old  fogies  who  took  great 
personal  interest  in  their  employees. 

Rubbed  briskly  dry,  he  stepped  into  his  bedroom 
again.  He  reached  under  the  bed  for  his  shoes. 
His  hand  encountered  a  bit  of  paper,  two  bits  of 
paper.  He  straightened  up,  staring  blankly  at 
two  hundred-dollar  bills! 

Maybe  he  had  drunk  enough  last  night  to  make 
a  mistake  in  thinking  that  he  had  given  a  waitress 
a  hundred-dollar  tip.  But  certainly  he  had  not 
been  in  such  condition  as  to  acquire  two  hundred 
dollars  without  recollection  of  the  fact.  He  glanced 
quickly  at  his  overcoat.  It  was  his  own  brand-new 
one ;  he  had  not  walked  off  with  the  wrong  one. 

He  sat  dazedly  down  upon  the  edge  of  the  bed. 
He  remembered  perfectly  having  gone  through  all 
his  pockets  searching  for  the  diamond  pin.  He 
couldn't  have  pulled  three  hundred-dollar  bills  from 
his  pocket  without  seeing  or  feeling  them.  It  was 
credible  that  he'd  dropped  one  bill,  but  three — 


UNEASY  STREET  43 

never!  He  got  on  his  knees  and  looked  beneath  the 
bed.  There  was  that  little  canvas  trunk — he  re- 
membered that,  remembered  kicking  it  angrily  under 
the  bed.  There  were  more  bills  on  the  floor  by  the 
trunk.  The  cover  was  partly  open;  money  seemed 
to  be  oozing  from  it. 

He  reached  farther  under  and  pulled  the  trunk 
out.  His  wits  were  acute  now.  He  knew  at  once 
that  his  angry  kick  last  night  had  forced  the  lock, 
had  permitted  the  money  that  was  so  tightly  packed 
inside  to  expand  with  the  cessation  of  pressure,  to 
flutter  upon  the  floor. 

A  knock  sounded  upon  the  door.  Harshly  he 
called  a  question.  A  maid  answered  him.  Sudden 
drops  were  upon  his  forehead.  He  laughed  nerv- 
ously as  he  wiped  them  away,  and  called  to  the  maid 
to  return  in  an  hour. 

An  hour?  Why  not  ten  minutes?  By  some  amaz- 
ing error,  this  trunkful  of  money  had  been  placed 
in  his  room,  and  his  only  course  was  to  telephone 
the  office  at  once,  inform  the  hotel  staff  of  the 
affair,  and —  How  much  money  was  there?  If 
they  were  all  hundreds,  like  these  bills  that  he 
saw —  But  there  were  thousands,  too.  Suddenly 
it  seemed  that  the  only  important  thing  in  the  world 
was  the  adding  of  this  money.  His  fingers  trem- 
bled as  he  began  counting. 

Two  hundred  and  three  thousand  and  seven  hun- 
dred— but  he  mustn't  forget  the  hundred  that  he 
had  first  picked  up,  and  which  now  he  knew  could 
not  possibly  be  his  own.  Two  hundred  and  three 


44  UNEASY  STREET 

thousand  and  eight  hundred  dollars!  And  it  had 
been  left  in  his  room! 

He  walked  to  the  window  and  stared  unseeingly 
at  Times  Square.  He  must  think,  think!  This 
money,  this  fortune — it  wasn't  his.  He  mustn't  lose 
sight  of  that  fact  for  a  second. 

He  turned  back  from  the  window  and  sat  down. 
The  telephone,  silent  against  the  wall,  seemed  to 
call  to  him.  The  obvious  thing,  the  only  thing, 
was  to  telephone  down-stairs  and  have  this  trunk 
and  its  contents  removed. 

But  there  was  no  law  forbidding  a  man  to  play 
with  his  fancy.  How  on  earth  had  it  come  into 
his  room?  Well,  it  hadn't  walked  in — that  was 
sure.  And  it  no  longer  seemed  credible  that  a  ho- 
tel porter  had  accidentally  delivered  it  to  this  room. 
Trunks  containing  fortunes  are  not  carelessly  en- 
trusted to  porters. 

Well  then,  why  hadn't  the  person  who  left  it  here 
claimed  it?  For  eleven  hours,  at  least,  it  had  been 
undisturbed  in  the  room —  His  telephone-bell  rang. 
The  girl  announced  Mr.  Ladd. 

"Tell  him  that  I'll  be  down  in  five  minutes,"  said 
Baird. 

He  hung  up  and  looked  again  at  the  trunk.  He 
didn't  have  a  hundred  with  which  to  pay  Jimmy 
Ladd,  and  Jimmy  would  undoubtedly  be  grateful, 
in  view  of  the  parental  displeasure  incurred  to-day, 
for  repayment.  But  there  was  no  necessity  for 
weighing  Jimmy's  possible  gratitude  against — well, 
against  theft.  A  person  looking  on,  watching  him, 


UNEASY  STREET  45 

would  be  justified  in  thinking  that  he  intended  keep- 
ing this  money. 

He  laughed.  But  his  mirth  was  not  reassuring 
to  himself.  Two  hundred  and  three  thousand  and 
eight  hundred  dollars!  He'd  never  even  seen  so 
much  money.  Why,  if  it  came  to  that,  he  doubted 
if  Rockefeller  had  ever  seen  so  much.  Bankers 
might  have,  but  the  big  millionaires  of  the  country 
paid  their  bills,  acquired  their  properties  with 
checks.  So  much  cash — 

And  wliy  hadn't  it  been  claimed?  People  who 
have  mislaid  two  hundred  thousand  dollars  don't 
oversleep,  even  on  the  day  after  New  Year's  eve. 

Could  it  be  possible  that  its  last  possessor  did 
not  intend  to  claim  the  money?  Well,  what  differ- 
ence did  that  make?  His  duty  was  very  clearly 
defined.  He'd  telephone  down-stairs  immediately 
and —  The  bell  rang  again.  He  answered  it.  It 
was  Ladd,  speaking  from  down-stairs,  announcing 
that  he,  for  one,  was  starved,  and  purposed  begin- 
ning his  late  breakfast. 

"With  you  right  away,"  said  Baird. 

Once  again  he  looked  at  the  trunk.  Then  he 
walked  over  to  it  and  picked  it  up.  In  his  own 
trunk,  purchased  yesterday,  he  placed  the  canvas 
one.  There  was  plenty  of  room.  It  had  needed  a 
big  new  trunk  to  hold  his  uniforms  and  trophies 
acquired  abroad.  Carefully  he  locked  it.  It  was 
certainly  his  duty  to  guard  this  money  against  the 
possible  depredations  of  a  maid.  He  was  slightly 
dizzy  as  he  entered  the  elevator. 


IV 


TIMMY  LADD,  in  matters  gastronomical  at  any 
*J  rate,  was  a  man  of  his  word.  Also,  he  had  a 
persuasive  way  with  head  waiters.  The  mditre 
d'hotel,  a  captain,  a  waiter,  and  a  'bus-boy  were 
all  scurrying  round  the  corner-seat  of  the  Tramby 
grill,  administering  to  the  young  man's  wants,  when 
Baird  entered  the  room. 

"How  do  you  do  it,  Jimmy?"  asked  Baird,  as 
the  captain  drew  out  a  chair  for  him. 

Ladd  thrust  his  pointed  spoon  into  the  iced  grape- 
fruit; he  conveyed  a  morsel  to  his  mouth. 

"What?  Get  action?  Roddy,  when  I  walk  into 
a  restaurant,  the  check-boy  knows  that  it's  Christ- 
mas. He  flashes  the  word  ahead  that  Santa  has 
arrived."  He  dug  again  into  his  grapefruit. 
"That's  one  of  the  arguments  that  father  uses  to 
bolster  up  his  frightful  injustices  toward  me."  He 
grinned.  "Father  says  that  if  I'd  earned  my  own 
money,  I  wouldn't  be  so  lavish  with  it.  And  he  can't 
see  it  at  all  when  I  point  out  to  him  that  my  main 
objection  to  work  is  that  it  will  doubtless  cause 
me  to  set  too  great  a  value  upon  money.  He  has 
the  thrift  idea.  I  try  to  point  out  its  economic 
falsity,  its  glaring  immorality,  but  he'll  not  listen. 
He  told  me,  this  morning,  that  I  was  a  sucker  for 

46 


UNEASY  STREET  47 

every  parasite  in  New  York.  Yes,  sir;  he  said 
'sucker.'  If  you  knew  father,  you'd  realize  the  ex- 
tent of  his  wrath..  And  when  I  told  him  that  so 
highly  esteemed  a  character  as  the  late  'Diamond 
Jim'  Brady  had  said  that  there  was  a  lot  of  fun 
in  being  a  sucker  if  you  could  afford  it,  father  told 
me  that  I  could  no  longer  afford  it."  His  counte- 
nance took  on  a  look  of  mock  horror.  "I  trust,  old 
top,  that  you  can  pay  for  this  sumptuous  repast?" 

"If  you  can  eat  it."     Baird  grimaced. 

A  waiter  removed  Jimmy's  fruit.  Upon  a  hot 
plate  he  placed  buckwheat  cakes  and  sausages. 
Generously  he  applied  golden  sirup  to  the  dish. 
Baird  shook  his  head. 

"Yours  is  a  point  of  view  that  could  only  gain 
ground  in  this  town,  Jimmy." 

"Well,  New  York  demands  the  best,  the  most 
up-to-date,"  chuckled  Ladd.  "Give  the  old  burg 
time,  and  it  will  spread  its  philosophy  all  over  the 
nation.  'Cause  why?  Because  we're  the  happiest 
folk  in  the  country." 

"You  think  so?" 

"I  know  it,"  said  Ladd  emphatically.  "This  town 
is  full  of  folks  born  and  raised  somewhere  else.  But 
show  me  the  town  that  has  many  New  Yorkers! 
There  ain't  no  such  place.  And  if  there  is,"  he  went 
on,  blissfully  unconscious  of  contradictory  utter- 
ance, "those  New  Yorkers  are  all  looking  forward 
to  the  day  when  they'll  have  enough  money  to  come 
back  to  the  big  town.  And  people  don't  care  about 
a  place  where  they  aren't  happy." 

Baird  poured  a  second  cup  of  coffee. 


48  UNEASY  STREET 

"Sorry  I  don't  see  it  your  way,  Jimmy.  But, 
to  me,  the  town  is  simply  the  home  of  the  bluffer, 
the  would-be,  the  imitator,  the  social  climber." 

"You  have  a  grouch,"  declared  Jimmy.  "There- 
fore you  quote  the  envious.  Let  me  tell  you  some- 
thing, man:  The  bluffer  and  the  imitator  have  a 
decidedly  legitimate  ambition.  They  aren't  clams. 
They  know  that  some  one  else  has  more  on  the  ball 
than  they  have;  so  they  ape  him.  By  and  by,  if 
they  imitate  and  bluff  long  enough,  they'll  be  the 
real  thing.  Take  a  prize-fighter  beginning  his 
career.  Do  any  sneer  at  him  because  he  hopes  to 
be  champion?  And  because,  at  the  outset,  he  avoids 
the  best  men,  admitting  that,  at  present,  they  are 
superior  to  him,  is  he  a  j  oke  ?  Not  by  a  long  shot ! 
He's  a  wise  Patsy.  But  he  studies  the  champion's 
tactics,  his  methods — imitates  him  in  every  way. 
Sensible  boy!" 

"No  argument,"  said  Baird.  "He  has  a  more 
or  less  legitimate  ambition.  But  your  woman,  for 
instance,  who  sends  her  husband  to  the  grindstone, 
presses  his  nose  against  it,  so  that  he  may  make  more 
money  in  order  that  she  may  have  the  pleasure  of 

meeting  Mrs.  Vanderbilt She  is  a  fool,  and  her 

husband  is  a  greater  fool." 

Jimmy  nodded  to  the  waiter.  The  dishes  were 
removed.  Carefully,  with  fingers  that  shook  not  at 
all,  Baird  noticed,  he  selected  and  lighted  a  cigarette. 

Baird's  own  fingers  trembled.  Though  he  fol- 
lowed every  word  of  Jimmy's  talk,  the  canvas  trunk 
up-stairs  loomed  large  in  the  background  of  his 


UNEASY  STREET  49 

mind.  Whose  was  it?  Had  its  owner  missed  it? 
Was  a  search  already  being  instituted? 

Luxuriously,  Ladd  inhaled  cigarette  smoke. 

"Calling  names  doesn't  prove  anything,"  he  said. 
"We  hear  a  lot  about  expensive  wives.  Let  me  tell 
you  something,  boy:  Ambition  is  a  funny  thing. 
A  man  would  be  content  with  ten  thousand  a  year, 
say.  His  wife  wants  fifty.  She  makes  him  hustle. 
He  gets  the  fifty.  His  nose  is  at  the  grind- 
stone, as  you  say.  But  it  sharpens  his  nose.  It 
makes  him  smell  opportunity,  and — he  doesn't  sag, 
physically  or  mentally.  Show  me  an  extravagant 
wife  and,  nine  times  out  of  ten,  I'll  show  you  a  suc- 
cessful husband." 

"Yes,"  jeered  Baird;  "and  a  man  who's  killing 
himself  for  nothing,  so  that  his  wife  may  visit  on  the 
Avenue." 

"Well,  the  Avenue's  a  nice  place,  Rod;  you  must 
admit  that,"  chuckled  Ladd.  "And  why  shouldn't 
she  want  to  know  the  people  who  live  there?" 

"Because  she  doesn't  belong  with  them,"  snapped 
Baird. 

Ladd  laughed. 

"There's  a  fine  democratic  doctrine!  Why 
doesn't  she  belong  there  if  she's  an  attractive  per- 
son socially  and  her  husband  has  money  enough?" 

"Why  isn't  she  content  with  her  old  friends?" 
Baird  avoided  a  direct  reply. 

"Are  you?  Is  anyone?  What's  life  but  move- 
ment, change?  You've  had  five  thousand  a  year, 
say.  You  make  ten  thousand  a  year.  Do  you  run 
round  with  the  same  people?  You  bet  your  life 


50  UNEASY  STREET 

you  don't — either  here  or  in  your  home  town  of 
Donchester!  Or  in  Peking,  China,  or  Valparaiso, 
or  Evanston,  Illinois.  And  I'll  tell  you  why.  A 
motor  trip  is  proposed.  Two  couples.  The  ten- 
thousand-dollar  couple  wants  to  stay  at  a  hotel  a 
little  more  expensive  than  the  five-thousand-dollar 
people  can  afford.  So  they  travel  with  another  ten- 
thousand-dollar  couple.  And  I'll  tell  you  something 
else :  The  rich  don't  forsake  their  poor  acquaintances 
so  much  as  the  poor  forsake  them.  The  five-thou- 
sand-dollar women  call  on  the  ten-thousand-dollar 
women.  They  resent  her  new  rugs,  her  silver.  They 
quit  calling." 

"Where  did  you  learn  all  this,  Jimmy?"  chaffed 
Baird. 

"Oh,  I  picked  it  up  in  various  places,"  grinned 
Ladd.  "Believe  me,  Rod,  I  know  a  lot  about  money 
and  what  it  does  to  people." 

"You  never  made  any,"  said  Baird  sardonically. 

"But  I've  spent  a  bunch,"  chuckled  Jimmy.  "You 
can  learn  as  much  watching  the  parade  go  as  watch- 
ing it  come." 

"Well,  you're  all  wrong,  anyway,"  said  Baird. 

"That's  what  you  say — now.  Wait  till  you've 
been  in  this  town  a  while  longer." 

"Afraid  I'll  never  change,  then.  I  must  get  away 
to-day,"  said  Baird. 

"Oh,  but  you'll  come  back.  Of  course,  now  that 

father  is  on  the  outs  with  his  angel  child But 

he'll  get  over  it  in  a  week  at  the  outside.  And  then 
I  want  you  to  meet  him.  There's  lots  of  opportunity 
in  his  office,  and  I  want  you  there,  Roddy  me  buck." 


UNEASY  STREET  51 

Baird's  heart  leaped.  Strangely,  he,  who  had  had 
nothing,  had  attracted  the  friendship  of  this  youth 
who  had  had  everything.  Carefully  cultivated, 
Jimmy  Ladd's  regard  might  lead  to —  He  was 
ashamed  of  himself  for  cold-bloodedly  thinking  to 
profit  by  another's  generosity. 

"It's  awfully  decent  of  you,  Jimmy,  but " 

"But,  gosh — I  don't  often  meet  anyone  that  isn't 
after  something,  that  isn't  always  remembering  who 
father  is.  And  you're  a  nice  little  man,  Rod;  I'm 
for  you.  That's  settled.  I'll  wire  you  when  to  come 
on.  And  I'll  only  introduce  you  to  some  regular 
folks.  Of  course,  I'll  only  introduce  you  to  girls 
that  have  already  refused  to  marry  me,  like  Eileen, 
because  you're  a  handsome  blade,  Rod,  and " 

"Miss  Elsing  refused  to  marry  you?"  asked  Baird. 

"Surest  thing  you  know !  But  I'm  in  darned  good 
company.  We're  going  to  form  a  club — Rejected 
Suitors  of  Eileen.  I  know  at  least  seven  other  mem- 
bers. And  that  reminds  me — just  after  I  rang 
you  up  this  afternoon,  she  'phoned.  Told  me  to  re- 
mind you  that  you  had  a  pin  of  hers.  Asked  me  to 
bring  you  along  to  tea.  She's  going  to  be  with 
Blackmar  at  the  Amsterdam.  You  can  wait  over 
for  a  late  train,  eh?" 

"Why — er — yes ;  I — must  see  Miss  Elsing,"  stam- 
mered Baird.  "I — you  see,  Jimmy,  I  lost  that  pin 
of  hers." 

Jimmy  pursed  his  lips. 

"Better  bring  along  enough  cash  to  buy  her  an- 
other, then.  Eileen  is  strictly  business.  And  I  think 
Blackmar  gave  her  the  pin.  He's  a  fussy  old  bird, 


52 

Blackmar.  Myself,  I  think  that  maybe  Eileen  is 
making  a  mistake,  but  eight  millions  make  loud 
music." 

" Wouldn't  you  have  that  sometime?"  hinted 
Baird. 

"Father  is  quite  hale  and  hearty,  thank  you," 
grinned  Jimmy.  "And  Blackmar  has  his." 

"And  she'd  marry  a  man  for  his  money?"  asked 
Baird. 

Jimmy  shrugged. 

"Where  does  a  lawyer  take  his  talent?  To  the 
highest  bidder,  eh?  And  a  doctor,  and  an  author 
• — anyone  at  all?  Why  shouldn't  Eileen?" 

"But — but  it  comes  down  to — selling  herself," 
protested  Baird. 

"Does  it?  All  right.  Would  you  have  her  sell 
herself  for  a  pretty  speech  or  a  pleasant  smile  or 
a  good-looking  face?  It's  a  queer  thing  the  way 
people  look  at  marriage.  A  girl  throws  herself  away 
on  a  good-looking  poor  young  blackguard,  and  poo- 
pie  call  her  a  fool.  She  throws  herself  away  on  a 
rich  young  blackguard,  and  people  say  that  she's 
made  a  good  match." 

"They  say  that  in  New  York,  perhaps,"  argued 
Baird. 

"They  say  it  anywhere,"  retorted  Ladd.  "But  if 
she  happens  to  marry  a  man  twenty  years  older 
than  herself,  she  has  to  prove,  absolutely,  that  she 
loves  the  man  before  people  will  believe  her.  Why?" 

"Because  people  suspect  that  money  has  entered 
into  the  affair." 

"If  they're  both  young,  that  doesn't  matter,"  said 


UNEASY  STREET  53 

Ladd.  "People  have  the  wrong  idea,  absolutely, 
about  marriage.  It's  the  man's  fault,  too.  A  man 
forty-five  offers  himself  to  a  young  girl.  He's  grown 
a  bit  bald,  a  bit  paunchy ;  his  youthful  good  looks  are 
gone.  But  to  offset  that,  he  has  a  record  of  suc- 
cessful achievement.  But  does  he  want  the  lady  to 
marry  him  because  of  his  undoubted  assets?  Not 
by  a  jugful!  He  wants  to  be  married  for  something 
that  he  hasn't  got.  Gosh,  when  some  girl  accepts 
me,  I  hope  she  doesn't  do  it  because  I  can  dance  the 
shimmy!  I'm  willing  to  be  married  because  I  have 
brains,  because  I've  made  some  use  of  them."  He 
colored  slightly.  "Of  course,"  he  went  on,  more 
constrained  in  manner,  "I'll  never  mount  to  a  damn, 

anyway.  But  just  supposing People  seem  to 

think  that  love  is  a  matter  of  sex  attraction.  It 
sure  is;  but  marriage  is  something  else  again,  Maw- 
russ.  Of  course,  I  think  it's  better  all  round  if  the 
girl  loves  the  man,  but  if  she  respects  him,  and  he 

has  undoubted  material  assets I'm  not  blaming 

Eileen  a  bit." 

"I  guess  I  look  at  it  differently,"  said  Baird.  He 
had  the  faintest  sneer  in  his  voice. 

"You  don't  look  at  it  sensibly,"  said  Ladd. 
"Take  Eileen.  You  know  what  a  little  sister  of  the 
rich  is?  Well,  Eileen  is  one  of  them.  Father  died 
ten  years  ago.  Her  uncle  brought  her  on  here. 
Uncle  has  two  daughters  older  than  Eileen.  They'll 
never  win  prizes  in  beauty  contests.  Chance  for 
jealousy,  eh?  You  said  it.  Eileen  always  in  the 
background — cast-off  gowns,  all  that.  And  would 
they  let  her  fit  herself  for  a  job?  Not  so's  you'd 


54  UNEASY  STREET 

notice  it.  An  old-maid  aunt  might  come  in  handy 
when  the  cousins  got  married — keep  house,  all  that 
sort  of  thing. 

"But  you  can't  keep  a  wise  girl  down.  And  Eileen 
is  wise.  She's  got  used  to  certain  things — things 
that  cost  money.  Does  she  want  to  give  them  up? 
Does  anyone?  Well,  she's  normal.  First  thing  her 
uncle  knew,  Eileen,  in  her  cast-off  gowns  and  made- 
over  suits,  was  a  belle.  The  cousins  could  leave  her 
out  of  parties,  but  other  people  wouldn't.  When 
half  a  dozen  men  in  a  certain  set  want  to  marry  a 
girl,  they  manage  to  see  that  she's  invited  around. 
Eileen  isn't  a  one-punch  person,  Rod.  She  gets  'em, 
but  she  holds  'em,  too.  There's  an  Eileen  that  one 
doesn't  meet  at  first — an  Eileen  who's  gentle,  sweet. 
She  has  more  than  beauty,  than  brains,  than  charm. 
She  has  all  those,  the  Lord  knows,  but  she  sticks  to 
a  friend  the  way  a  man  does.  She — oh,  gosh,  you'll 
find  out. 

"Well,  there  you  have  it.  Where  her  cousins 
tossed  away  a  thousand,  Eileen  counted  a  penny 
twice.  Then  another  uncle  died.  He  left  her  four 
thousand  a  year.  And  Eileen  ups  and  moves.  Lit- 
tle apartment  all  her  own  on  Fifty-ninth,  opposite 
the  park.  Cousins  sighed  with  relief ;  Eileen  was  out 
of  the  market,  would  render  herself  declassee.  But 
not  Eileen.  Dug  up  a  chaperon  and  is  invited 

around It  hasn't  been  any  too  easy  for  her,  I'll 

tell  the  world.  She's  been  trained  with  a  million- 
dollar  crowd — and  likes  it.  She's  had  to  count  pen- 
nies— has  to  count  'em  still,  for  that  matter.  Four 


UNEASY  STREET  55 

thousand  a  year  doesn't  buy  any  yachts,  you  know. 
Every  little  jewel,  every  trinket " 

"I  notice  that  she  accepts  them  from  a  man  to 
whom  she's  not  married,"  said  Baird. 

"That  pin,  you  mean?"  Ladd  shrugged.  "I'm 
not  saying  that  Eileen  is  perfect.  I'm  saying  this: 
She  found  out  early  in  the  game  that  money  makes 
this  world  go  round.  She  found  out  that  men  can 
afford  to  be  generous,  but  that  women  ought  to 
run  a  cash  business.  That's  why  she  won't  hesitate 
a  minute  to  let  you  pay  for  that  pin.  And  you'll 
respect  her  more  for  it." 

"Will  I?"     Baird's  sneer  was  patent  now. 

"Sure  you  will!  That's  the  masculine  of  it.  If 
I  lose  your  watch,  you  laugh  it  off.  You  won't 
hear  to  my  getting  another.  That's  because  you  are 
able  to  earn  money  to  buy  another  one.  But  a 
woman — practically  all  that  any  of  them  have  got 
they  got  as  gifts  from  men.  They  only  have  a  few 
years — most  of  them,  poor  things ! — in  which  to 
collect  their  gifts.  So  they're  jealous  of  those  they 
have.  It's  plain  business.  You  like  it  in  a  man; 
why  not  respect  it  in  a  woman,  even  though  it's  a 
bit  different?"  His  face  grew  suddenly  anxious. 
"Say — it  won't  break  you,  will  it?  That  pin  must 

be  worth  seven  or  eight  hundred If  you  don't 

want  to  see  her,  I'll  frame  up  some  excuse,  and " 

Here  was  Baird's  chance.  Jimmy  Ladd  was  his 
friend.  Friends  forgive  mistakes ;  they  do  not  judge 
too  harshly.  It  was  a  very  simple  thing  to  explain 
to  Ladd  that  he  was  under  a  misapprehension,  that 
Baird  had  permitted  a  wrong  conception  to  arise 


56  UNEASY  STREET 

ifl  Ladd's  mind.  Ladd  knew  that  Baird  was  in 
moderate  circumstances.  Why  not  tell  him  that 
he  was  in  practically  no  circumstances  at  all,  that 
he  was  dependent  on  the  job  waiting  for  him? 

But  pride  assailed  him — false  pride.  He  had  not 
destroyed  certain  assumptions  that  had  grown  up 
in  Jimmy's  mind.  Last  night,  he  had  borrowed  a 
hundred  with  an  air  of  casualness  that  amounted,  if 
one  were  strictly  ethical,  to  deceit.  To  ask  Miss 
Elsing  to  wait  a  day  for  payment  of  the  value  of 
her  pin  meant  that  Jimmy  Ladd  would  know  that 
Baird  had  not  that  much  in  the  bank.  Otherwise, 
he  would  naturally  write  a  check. 

Jimmy  Ladd's  friendship  might  prove  a  great 
asset.  A  position  in  the  firm  of  Jimmy's  father 
might  lead  to  undreamed-of  fortune.  There  was  no 
future  with  Robbins  &  Robbins.  There  was  a  fu- 
ture with  Jimmy  Ladd  in  New  York. 

But  that  future  was  based  on  friendship;  friend- 
ship is  easily  jeopardized.  Jimmy  Ladd,  he  knew, 
trusted  him  implicitly.  But  if  Jimmy  Ladd  discov- 
ered that  Baird  had  deceived  him  as  to  his  financial 
standing —  Jimmy  had  expressed  great  tolerance 
for  the  bluffer.  But  men  often  say  things  that  they 
do  not  mean. 

But  it  wasn't  Jimmy  that  he  was  considering 
at  all.  He  might  as  well  be  honest  with  himself. 
He  was  thinking  of  Eileen  Elsing.  She  was  not 
at  all  the  sort  of  girl  that  interested  him.  He  had 
his  own  ideas  about  the  sort  of  girl  that  he  liked. 
How  could  a  man  care  for  a  woman  who  stood  for 
all  the  things  to  which  he  was  opposed?  Ridicu- 


UNEASY  STREET  57 

lous !  He  did  not  realize  that  he  was  whistling  to 
keep  his  courage  up,  that  nature  works  her  plan 
without  consulting  us.  If  love  were  a  mathematical 
formula,  there  would  be  no  unhappy  marriages. 
She  was  not  at  all  the  kind  of  girl  that  he  had 
vaguely  conceived  might,  some  day,  win  his  love. 
That  was  enough  for  him!  A  girl  who  would  de- 
liberately exchange  herself  for  money,  even  though 
a  marriage  ceremony  absolved  her  from  open 
shame — •  He  certainly  was  not  going  to  submit 
himself  to  humiliation  at  her  hands.  And  it  would 
be  humiliation  to  confess  to  her — though  the  con- 
fession went  through  Jimmy  Ladd — that  he  had  not 
cash  enough  in  the  bank  to  meet  his  obligation  to 
her. 

"Break  me?"  He  laughed.  He  signed  the  check 
that  the  waiter  had  placed  face  downward  on  the 
table  without  glancing  at  it.  He  gave  the  man  a 
dollar.  "Not  at  all.  And  I  owe  you  a  hundred, 
Jimmy." 

"No  hurry  at  all,  old  chap !"  protested  Jimmy. 

"Why  not?  I  borrowed  it  in  a  hurry.  Might  as 
well  pay  it  back  the  same  way.  And  I'll  have  just 
time  to  drink  a  cup  of  tea  with  Miss  Elsing  before 
I  catch  my  train." 

"And  you'll  be  ready  to  return  soon?" 

"Why — er "  Baird  was  thinking  fast.  "Maybe 

I'll  return  at  once.  I'd  hardly  like  to  go  to  work 
at  my  old  place  and  leave  them  in  a  hurry.  Just 
attend  to  my  affairs  there,  and  come  back." 

"Good  boy!"  exclaimed  Jimmy.  "This  is  Wed- 
nesday. By  Saturday,  father  will  be  missing  his 


58  UNEASY  STREET 

erring  son.  We'll  have  Sunday  dinner  together — 
you,  too — and  Monday  James  McPherson  Ladd  has 
a  new  potential  partner." 

"You  think  there's  a  place  for  me?" 

"I  don't  think  it,  Rod;  I  know  it." 

They  were  in  the  lobby  now. 

"Wait  for  me  a  minute  or  so,  Jimmy,"  said  Baird. 

Ladd  nodded  assent,  and  Baird  entered  the  ele- 
vator. In  his  room  he  stood  still  for  two  minutes. 
Then  he  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

It  certainly  was  not  theft  that  he  contemplated. 
Supposing  that  he'd  had  a  thousand  dollars  in  the 
bank?  Would  it  be  morally  wrong  for  him  to  take 
a  thousand  from  the  canvas  trunk,  placing  his  own 
perfectly  good  check  therein?  He  didn't  think  it 
would  be. 

Well,  his  corner  lot  in  Linestream  was  the  same 
as  money  in  the  bank.  He'd  return  to-morrow  after- 
noon, replace  the  money  that  he  was  going  to  take 
now.  It  was  almost  four  o'clock.  No  one  had  come 
to  claim  the  trunk  and  its  contents.  If,  by  any 
possible  chance,  they  did  come,  how  would  they  prove 
that  he  had  taken  anything  from  the  contents? 
Prove  it?  But,  pshaw! — no  one  would  claim  it. 
When  he  returned,  he  would  notify  the  hotel  authori- 
ties of  finding  the  trunk,  first  replacing  the  money 
that  he  had  taken.  He  was  not  going  to  make  any 
confession  that  would  humiliate  him  in  the  eyes  of 
Eileen  Elsing.  He  would  pay  her  for  her  pin. 

He  opened  his  trunk,  and  from  the  canvas  box 
inside  took  a  thousand  dollars.  This  time  he  was 


UNEASY  STREET  59 

not  dizzy  when  he  walked  to  the  elevator,  but  his 
color  was  high. 

Twenty-four  hours  ago,  he  had  looked  forward 
to  his  return  to  Donchester,  to  the  taking-up,  where 
he  had  left  off,  of  what  had  seemed  to  be  a  satisfac- 
tory career.  In  so  far  as  youth  ever  looks  ahead, 
he  had  forecast  his  future  as  one  of  not  too  arduous 
labor  rewarded  with  modest  pay.  Some  day,  he  had 
always  dreamed,  he  might  possibly  achieve  a  minor 
interest  in  the  firm  of  Robbins  &  Robbins,  might  go 
home  each  night  to  find  dinner  upon  the  table,  pre- 
sided over  by  a  nice,  comfortable  girl — pretty,  of 
course — who  would  hang  breathlessly  upon  his 
speech. 

Last  night,  he  had  met  a  different  sort  of  girl. 
He  had  met  a  girl  who,  when  she  married,  would 
leave  the  preparation  of  dinner  to  a  competent  chef 
and  a  capable  butler.  He  had  met  a  girl  who  would 
not  look  upon  home  as  the  end-all  and  be-all  of 
existence,  but  who  would  treat  home  as  man  treats 
it — a  place  to  go  when  the  important  things  of  the 
day  had  been  attended  to.  A  girl,  in  short,  who 
possessed  as  much  individuality  as  any  man,  and 
who  would  not  permit  that  individuality  to  be  sub- 
merged beneath  marriage. 

He  had  had,  last  night,  his  first  glimpse  of  a 
life  whose  participants  were  not  hampered  by  such 
petty  matters  as  the  price-list  on  the  menu.  He 
had  met,  on  terms  of  equality,  persons  to  whom 
wealth,  because  they  had  it,  was  a  casual  thing. 
And  the  very  casualness  with  which  it  was  treated 
enhanced  its  value  in  his  eyes. 


60  UNEASY  STREET 

Donchester,  while  he  had  been  in  the  army,  had 
seemed  some  earthly  paradise  to  which,  if  God  were 
kind,  he  might  be  some  day  permitted  to  return. 
But  now  Donchester  seemed  the  tomb  of  ambition, 
the  burial-ground  of  hope. 


FT1HE  tea-hour  is  perhaps  the  most  charming  in 
•I.  the  better  New  York  restaurants.  Breakfast 
is  unattractive ;  the  loveliest  feminine  face  is  not  im- 
proved by  electric  lights  in  the  morning.  Luncheon 
is  an  utilitarian  proposition,  too  much  like  putting 
gasoline  in  the  tank.  Dinner  and  supper  are  apt  to 
be  feverishly  gay. 

But  tea  is  a  function  of  refinement.  One  senses 
that  here  New  York  has,  for  the  time,  forgotten 
haste.  Conversation  is  quieter;  restraint,  unforced, 
is  in  the  atmosphere.  The  orchestras,  even  when 
they  play  the  latest  "jazz,"  seem  subdued.  It  is  the 
hour  of  candle-light,  when  New  York  seeks  relaxa- 
tion after  the  labors  of  the  day.  Entering  this  at- 
mosphere slowed  the  fevered  pulse  of  Baird. 

Blackmar  and  Eileen  were  seated  in  the  center  of 
the  Amsterdam's  tea-room  when  Baird  and  Ladd 
arrived.  Plates  had  been  laid  for  the  later  comers, 
and  the  girl  was  already  munching  at  a  toasted 
muffin. 

"Hello,  revelers !"  Eileen  greeted  them.  "You 
remember  Mr.  Blackmar,  Captain  Baird?" 

The  smile  on  Blackmar's  lips  seemed  faintly  con- 
temptuous, superior,  to  Baird.  He  bowed  stiffly. 
But  stiffness  left  him  as  Eileen  flashed  upon  him  a 

61 


62  UNEASY  STREET 

smile  whose  radiance  he  had  not  suspected.  She 
wore  a  tailor-made  suit — of  blue  serge,  he  guessed. 
A  stiff  flat  hat  of  the  same  color  sat  jauntily  upon 
her  mass  of  auburn  hair.  A  cream-colored  collar, 
stiff  enough  to  suggest  masculinity,  added  to  the 
boyish  effect  of  the  suit  and  hat. 

Baird  hated  masculine  women;  he  liked,  he 
thought,  soft,  frilly,  trailing  garments  for  them. 
But  the  most  severe  tailor  could  not  take  away 
from  Eileen  Elsing  the  rounded  lines  of  her  figure. 
Her  femininity  was  merely  accented  by  her  garb. 
She  looked  boyish,  but  one  knew  that  she  was  all 
girl. 

"Tea?"     She  looked  from  Baird  to  Ladd. 

The  latter  grinned. 

"Not  a  chance,  Eileen.  You  may  have  better 
luck  with  Baird,  but  I  just  finished  a  grapefruit, 
three  cups  of  coffee,  five  sausages,  seven  buckwheat 
cakes,  some  toast " 

"Spare  us,  Jimmy !"  begged  Eileen.  "By  the  day 
after  to-morrow,  maybe,  I  can  listen  to  such  ma- 
terial matters,  but  on  the  first  day  of  January " 

She  shuddered.  "Didn't  you  make  any  good  reso- 
lutions, Jimmy?  I  hope  Captain  Baird  has  some 
sense  of  the  tribute  due  to  the  morning  after." 

"Oh,  Baird  isn't  a  hardened  sinner  like  me," 
laughed  Jimmy.  "Besides,  he  has  worry  on  his 
soul.  That  pin  of  yours " 

Baird  saw  the  girl  stiffen.  Her  lips  wore  a  smile 
that  was  purely  mechanical  as  she  turned  to  him. 

"My  pin?"  she  questioned.     "It  worried  you?" 

"It's  been  worrying  me  for  some  tune,"   inter- 


UNEASY  STREET  63 

posed  Blackmar.  "That's  why  I'm  here  to-day. 
I  have  a  man  down-town — sort  of  a  wonder,  he  is. 
I  always  did  distrust  the  clasp  on  that  pin,  but 
Eileen  wouldn't  have  it  changed.  Thinks  a  good 
clasp  would  be  too  bulky.  But  now  she's  going  to 
let  this  little  jeweler  in  Maiden  Lane  repair  it. 
Sorry  I  can't  tea  with*  you  boys — though  I  imagine 
Eileen  will  do  most  of  the  teaing,"  he  chuckled. 
"But  I'll  take  the  pin,  Captain  Baird,  if  you  don't 
mind,  and  run  along."  He  looked  at  his  watch. 

It  was  quite  the  thinnest  watch  that  Baird  had 
ever  seen.  Like  the  perfectly  cut  clothing  of  the 
man,  it  suggested  affectation.  Even  the  trim  of  his 
mustache —  How  a  man  could  make  a  fortune  and 
yet  give  so  much  thought  to  his  appearance!  He 
looked  away  from  Blackmar  and  met  the  coolly 
questioning  eyes  of  the  girl.  He  felt  his  face  burn. 

"Your  pin — yes — it  has  worried I — you  see, 

Miss  Elsing,  I've  lost  it,"  he  blurted. 

The  girl's  expression  did  not  change,  unless  hard- 
ness crept  into  her  eyes.  A  matter  of  a  few  sec- 
onds— though,  to  Baird,  it  seemed  minutes — she 
stared  at  him.  Then  she  shrugged.  She  turned  to 
Blackmar. 

"Better  run  along,  Sam,  and  keep  that  engage- 
ment that  interferes  with  tea." 

Upon  him  Baird  felt,  mocking  his  embarrass- 
ment, the  cynical  glance  of  Blackmar.  He  was 
furious  with  himself  because  he  blushed. 

"I — er — Miss  Elsing,  I — have  been  unpardonably 
careless  and,  of  course,  I  want  to  replace " 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  coolly.     "As  it  happens, 


64  UNEASY  STREET 

though,  I  doubt  if  another  pin  like  it  can  be  found 
in  the  city." 

"How  did  you  lose  it?"  asked  Blackmar.  It  was 
a  perfectly  natural  question,  but,  somehow,  in  the 
man's  tones,  Baird  felt  sneering  elation. 

"If  I  knew  that,"  he  answered,  "I  would  know 
how  to  find  it." 

Blackmar's  lips  pursed.  He  made  no  reply,  but 
there  radiated  from  him  an  atmosphere  of  in- 
credulity. 

"What  does  it  matter?"  asked  Eileen.  "Captain 
Baird  is — not  accustomed  to  New  Year's  celebra- 
tions, and " 

Blackmar's  mustache  moved.  The  smile  was  fleet- 
ing. But  Baird  caught  it.  He  had  made  an  ass 
of  himself  last  night,  and  doubtless  Miss  Elsing  had 
retailed  his  asininity  to  Blackmar.  It  would  be  just 
like  the  girl,  he  told  himself.  How  cordially  he 
disliked  her! 

"Well,  it  doesn't  matter,  Eileen.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  Arabin's  have  another  pin  almost  like  it. 
I'll  try  and  drop  in  there  to-morrow  and  get  it  for 
you." 

Baird  felt  as  though  some  one  had  removed  him 
from  the  scene.  This  calm  assumption  of  Blackmar 
that— 

"In  that  case,"  he  said  evenly,  "III  drop  into 
Arabin's.  I  think,  Miss  Elsing,  that  we  have  just 
time,  if  I'm  to  catch  an  evening  train." 

"Oh,  see  here,  Baird,"  protested  Blackmar;  "just 
forget  the  matter.  I'll  get  Eileen  another  pin.  She 
shouldn't  have  worn  it,  anyway." 


UNEASY  STREET  65 

Once  again  the  man's  words  were  all  right.  In- 
deed, a  listener  might  have  thought  Blackmar  the 
essence  of  tactful  kindness.  But  Baird,  resentful 
of  the  man,  read  contempt  in  his  voice.  What  right 
had  Blackmar  to  assume  that  he,  Rodney  Baird, 
was  not  able  to  make  good  his  own  losses?  Further, 
there  was  patronage,  too  much  patronage,  in  the 
way  he  spoke  to  Baird.  Why  not  "Mr.  Baird,"  in- 
stead of  simply  "Baird"? 

"You'll  forgive  my  feeling,  Mr.  Blackmar,  that 
it's  a  matter  I  can't  forget?" 

The  two  men  eyed  each  other  a  moment.  Black- 
mar's  eyebrows  raised.  To  Baird,  he  was  the  epit- 
ome of  well-bred  insolence.  There  was  not  a  word 
to  which  he  could  take  exception,  yet  never  had  he 
so  desired  to  drive  his  fist  against  a  man's  face. 

"Just  as  you  say,  my  boy,"  replied  Blackmar. 
"You'll  pardon  my  running-away,  Eileen,  but — " 
He  nodded  cordially  to  Ladd,  bowed  with  the  least 
trace  of  formality  to  Baird,  and  left  the  table. 

Baird  looked  after  him,  his  eyes  hard.  He  turned 
to  the  girl.  Somehow  he  felt  awkward,  conscious 
of  his  newly  purchased  clothing.  No  wonder,  see- 
ing him  unconventionally  clad  last  night  and  wear- 
ing the  same  suit  this  afternoon,  Blackmar  thought 
him  unable  to  replace  the  pin. 

"I'm  to  catch  the  five-o'clock,  Miss  Elsing,"  he 
said.  "If  you  wouldn't  mind " 

"And  you  won't  have  any  tea?"  she  asked. 

"Thank  you — no,"  he  told  her. 

Jimmy  Ladd  signaled  the  waiter. 

"This  is  my  party,"  said  the  girl. 


66  UNEASY  STREET 

Jimmy  grinned. 

"When  the  hundred  that  Baird  just  paid  me  is 
gone — say  to-morrow,  Eileen — I'll  let  you  buy  me 
dinner." 

She  smiled. 

"Father?" 

Jimmy  bowed. 

"You  said  it.  And  it  usually  takes  four  days, 
you  know." 

The  girl  laughed,  yet  in  her  laughter  was  the 
hint  of  a  sigh. 

"Oh,  Jimmy,  Jimmy !  And  everyone  thought  that 

when  you  returned  from  France "  For  the  first 

time,  Baird  glimpsed  gentleness  in  the  girl.  But 
Ladd's  grin  grew  broader. 

"I  haven't  time,  you  know.  Prohibition  is  com- 
ing." 

The  gentleness  left  her  eyes. 

"You  irritate  me,  Jimmy.  You  mayn't  come  with 
us." 

She  looked  at  Baird  and  rose.  The  waiter  had 
not  yet  returned  with  Ladd's  change. 

"It's  all  right,"  said  Ladd  mock-mournfully. 
"Leave  me  to  my  teaful  shame.  Send  me  a  wire, 
Rod,  the  minute  you're  coming  back." 

"I'll  do  that,"  promised  Baird.  Warmly  he  shook 
Ladd's  hand. 

Outside,  in  the  taxi  the  Amsterdam  doorman  had 
summoned,  the  girl  looked  curiously  at  Baird. 

"You're  returning  to  New  York,  then?  To  live 
here?" 

"I  hope  so,"  he  told  her. 


UNEASY  STREET  67 

He  looked  straight  ahead,  but  he  felt  her  eyes 
still  curiously  upon  him.  Inexplicably  he  thrilled. 
It  annoyed  him.  Beautiful  she  undoubtedly  was; 
the  jaunty  boyishness  of  her  apparel,  accenting 
her  girlishness  as  it  did,  rendered  her  more  intrigu- 
ing to  the  eye  even  than  she  had  been  last  night. 
She  had  brains,  too.  How  he  knew  that,  he  could 
not  tell,  but  he  knew  it.  Certainly  she  had  said 
nothing  to  indicate  their  possession.  And  she  could 
be  gentle,  sympathetic,  understanding.  That  much 
he  knew  from  her  words,  her  look  when  she  had 
chided  Jimmy  for  his  wildness.  Her  later  harshness 
could  not  obliterate  her  moment  of  softness. 

But — she  was  mercenary.  Jimmy  Ladd  could  be 
as  much  of  a  sophist  as  he  chose;  nevertheless,  nice 
girls — the  kind  that  Baird  had  known  in  Donchester 
— were  not  like  Eileen  Elsing.  They  did  not  accept 
diamond  pins  from  men,  even  though  engaged  to 
them;  they  did  not,  by  their  attitude  and  speech, 
show  how  absolutely  they  expected  strangers  to  re- 
place jewels  which  they  had  entrusted  to  the 
strangers  for  safekeeping. 

It  was  her  hard  matter-of-factness  about  it  that 
angered  him,  that  disgusted  him.  Yet,  why  shouldn't 
she  be  matter  of  fact?  Wasn't  it  more  honest  to 
be  matter  of  fact?  Why  should  she  wave  the  mat- 
ter aside,  profess  not  to  mind,  when  he  would  know 
perfectly  well  that  she  did  mind?  Pretty  protesta- 
tions were  all  very  well,  but  if  they  were  insincere, 
of  what  sense  were  they? 

"So  you're  coming  back  to  New  York?"  She 
broke  in  upon  his  musings.  "I'm  glad  of  that.5* 


68  UNEASY  STREET 

He  thrilled  again. 

"You  mean  that?" 

Her  eyes  widened.  They  were  lovely  eyes  of,  now, 
a  warm  gray. 

"Why  shouldn't  I?"  she  asked.  "And  you're  com- 
ing to  see  me." 

Whether  by  accident  or  design,  her  hand  slid 
from  her  lap  and  touched  his.  Gloved  though  it 
was,  Baird  sensed  its  firmness,  its  warmth.  He 
looked  at  her;  her  eyes  held  mockery  in  them  now. 
Her  head  was  perched  on  one  side — quizzically,  it 
seemed  to  him.  It  grew  above  the  fur  collar  of  the 
overcoat  that  she  wore  like  some  lovely,  though 
exotic,  flower. 

"May  I?"  he  asked.    His  voice  shook  slightly. 

Her  nod  was  assent  enough.  He  hardly  dared 
breathe  lest  his  hand  move  and  remind  her  of  its 
proximity  to  her  own.  They  did  not  speak  again 
until  the  taxi  drew  up  before  Arabin's. 

Then  they  exchanged  mutual  smiles.  Baird  un- 
derstood now  the  queer  look  on  the  taxi-man's  face 
when  he  had  given  him  the  address.  The  girl 
laughed. 

"Captain  Baird,  you  have  stolen  my  wits." 

He  bowed. 

"The  brain  first,  and  then  the  heart." 

Her  eyes  did  not  rebuke  his  banality.  Her  lips 
curved  in  a  pretty  moue. 

"And  I  call  myself  a  New  Yorker,  and  forget  that 
all  shops  are  closed  on  New  Year's.  Oh,  well — shall 
we  walk?" 

With  fingers  that  shook  with  sudden  relief,  Baird 


UNEASY  STREET  69 

took  from  his  pocket  money  for  the  taxi-man.  De- 
cision could  wait!  Explanations  thai;  a  false  pride 
forbade  to  be  given  verbally  could  be  given  in  writ- 
ing. He  turned  to  the  girl,  his  eyes  blurred,  to  find 
her  smiling  into  the  eyes  of  an  affable,  portly  gentle- 
man, whose  bland  smile  seemed  to  envelop  her. 

"Mr.  Arabin,  Captain  Baird,"  the  young  man 
heard  her  say. 

He  took  the  gloved  hand  that  the  famous  jeweler 
extended.  Like  a  condemned  criminal  who  has  been 
notified  that  a  pardon  is  on  the  way  and  who  sud- 
denly hears  that  the  report  was  cruelly  false,  he 
heard  Arabin  say: 

"You  were  on  your  way  to  my  store?  On  New 
Year's?  What  sort  of  a  celebration  did  you  attend 
last  night,  Miss  Elsing?" 

She  chuckled. 

"If  you  were  the  kindly  person  you  looked,  Mr. 
Arabin,  you  would  take  us  inside  and  let  me  pick 
my  trinket." 

He  shrugged. 

"The  trays  are  all  in  the  vaults.'* 

"But  you  helped  me  select  the  pin  that  I  wish  to 
replace,"  she  protested.  "The  one  that  Mr.  Black- 
mar  bought  for  me." 

Arabin  touched  the  cleft  in  his  chin  with  a  fore- 
finger that,  despite  the  glove  that  covered  it,  Baird 
knew  to  be  as  meticulously  cared  for  as  a  woman's, 
and  to  be  as  soft  and  tenderly  shaped. 

"I  know!"  exclaimed  the  jeweler.  "To  serve  you, 
Miss  Elsing — come !" 

There  were   an   exchange   of   greetings   with   an 


70  UNEASY  STREET 

obsequious  watchman,  the  rolling-back  of  iron  shut- 
ter-doors, the  unlocking  of  an  inner  door,  and  then 
the  trio  were  inside  the  great  main  room  of  Arabin's. 

It  was  not  absolutely  deserted,  Baird  noted.  This 
place,  whose  vaults  held  millions  of  dollars  in  gold 
and  precious  stones,  was  guarded  as  the  Bank  of 
England  is  probably  guarded.  But  Arabin's  pride- 
ful  explanations  as  to  the  electric  wirings,  the 
marksmanship  and  proved  courage  of  the  special 
detectives  who  lounged  around  rolled  off  Baird's 
ears.  He  only  knew  that  an  unhappy  fate  had  con- 
trived against  him.  How  many  people  in  all  New 
York  were  well-enough  acquainted  with  Arabin  to 
achieve  entrance  to  his  shop  on  a  holiday?  It  gave 
him,  though,  another  light  upon  the  possible  social 
importance  of  Eileen  Elsing. 

Arabin  was  no  absentee  owner,  no  owner  who  al- 
lowed others  to  do  his  work.  He  might  be  some- 
what too  bland  an  individual,  but  he  was  an  artist, 
and  took  an  artist's  pride  in  his  achievements.  He 
knew,  Baird  gathered,  the  exact  disposition  of  every 
article  in  his  establishment.  Five  minutes  after  they 
were  in  his  private  office,  Eileen  was  looking  at  a 
pin. 

"I  was  extremely  fond  of  the  desigij  of  the  other 
— could  it  be  duplicated,  Mr.  Arabin?  Just  the 

least  change "  She  pointed  to  the  setting  of  one 

of  the  larger  diamonds.  "All  the  large  ones  ?  Could 
the  settings  be  changed?" 

Arabin  smiled. 

"For  you,  Miss  Elsing,  all  things  can  be  done." 

She  nodded  carelessly.     Baird  noticed  that,  now 


UXEASY  STREET  71 

that  she  had  got  what  she  wanted,  her  affability 
toward  the  jeweler  had  slightly  cooled. 

"Then  I'll  take  it,"  she  said.  "Or,  rather,  Cap- 
tain Baird  will.  He  lost  the  other.  You're  sure," 
she  added,  "that  you  can  remember  the  setting?" 

Arabin  shrugged.  He  murmured  a  regret  at  Cap- 
tain Baird's  misfortune,  but  assured  her  that  the 
change  could  be  made.  All  designs  were  on  file  in 
the  workrooms. 

"A  simple  matter,"  he  declared.  "I  doubt  if  it 
adds  twenty  dollars  to  the  cost  of  the  pin."  He 
looked  insinuatingly  at  Baird.  "You  have  an  ac- 
count here,  Captain?" 

Baird  shook  his  head. 

"I  thought  I'd  pay  for  it  now." 

"Certainly,"  murmured  Arabin.  He  essayed  mis- 
chievousness  in  his  smile  now.  "The  law  forbids 
commercial  transactions  on  a  holiday,  but — what 
is  the  law,  Captain,  when  a  lovely  lady  must  be 
pleased?  Thirty-five  hundred  and — I  can't  be  exact 
as  to  the  price  of  resetting.  Not  over  thirty  dollars 
at  the  outside,  however.  Do  you  wish  my  pen  to 
write  a  check?" 

Thirty-five  hundred  dollars!  And  Jimmy  Ladd 
had  thought  that  it  would  cost  seven  or  eight  hun- 
dred! Thirty-five  hundred  dollars!  Yet  the  girl 
was  looking  at  him.  Arabin  was  waiting. 

"I — er — just  returned  from  abroad Don't 

know  the  condition  of  my  account.  Must  return 

home — I "  He  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and 

took  out  the  roll  of  bills  he  had  taken  from  the 
canvas  trunk.  "A  deposit?"  he  asked  desperately. 


72  UNEASY  STREET 

Arabin  bowed  ingratiatingly.  He  was  not  a  gen- 
tleman. A  gentleman  would  have  laughed  at  the 
idea  of  a  deposit  when  this  transaction  was  more  of 
a  favor  on  the  jeweler's  part  than  a  business  deal. 
However,  being  a  business  man — as  well  as  an  artist 
— all  the  time  probably  accounted  for  Arabin's 
great  success. 

"Why,  certainly,  Captain,"  said  the  jeweler.  "A 
couple  of  hundred,  shall  we  say?  And  you  wish  it 
sent?" 

Baird  handed  him  two  hundred-dollar  bills.  Ara- 
bin scribbled  a  receipt. 

"I'm  going  to  Donchester;  I'll  be  back  in  New 
York  in — a  couple  of  days " 

"It  will  take  at  least  that  long  for  the  resetting, 
Captain,"  assented  Arabin.  "Friday,  then.  Would 
you  care  to  look  round  the  building?" 

Baird  mumbled  an  excuse.  He  must  catch  a  train. 
Eileen  had  apparently  been  paying  no  attention  to 
the  conversation,  being  too  absorbed,  it  seemed,  in 
looking  at  the  pin,  which  she  now  handed  to  the 
jeweler. 

"All  settled?  You're  a  dear  thing,  Mr.  Arabin, 
to  take  us  in  here." 

"I  will  be  dearer  than  that,"  he  told  her.  "I 
shall  say  nothing  to  our  friends  as  to  this  most 
amazing  lapse  of  memory  of  yours.  To  go  shop- 
ping on  New  Year's You  must  have  welcomed 

in  the  New  Year." 

Outside,  the  succession  of  bolted  doors  and  iron 
shutter-doors  having  been  passed  again,  the  girl 
spoke  to  Baird. 


UNEASY  STREET  73 

"Friday,  did  he  say?  Then — suppose  you  bring 
it  to  my  apartment  and  dine  with  me?  Eh?" 

He  stammered  an  assent.  He  hailed  a  taxi.  At 
its  door,  she  looked  at  him  regretfully. 

"Sorry  I  can't  ask  you  to  come  along,  but  I  must 
pay  a  duty  call  in  Gramercy  Park — and  you've  to 
go  to  your  hotel,  I  suppose?" 

He  nodded.    She  flashed  him  a  smile  and  was  gone. 

Thirty-five  hundred  dollars!  He  turned  back  to 
Arabin's.  He'd  cancel  the  order!  He'd  get  his  two 
hundred  back  and  leave  New  York  and  never  return ! 
How  on  earth  could  he  ever  possibly  pay  for  it? 
How  dared  this  girl — she  was  a  snob,  too,  he'd  just 
discovered,  in  addition  to  those  other  traits  of  char- 
acter to  which  he  objected — how  dared  she  entrust 
him  with  a  bauble  worth  that  amount  of  money?  It 
was  her  own  carelessness,  in  the  first  place,  wearing 
it  insecurely  clasped.  And  she'd  said  that  it  was 
a  gift  from  an  aunt  last  night,  and  to-day  brazenly 
admitted  that  Blackmar  had  given  it  to  her.  For  a 
girl  like  that — to  worry —  Jimmy  Ladd  had  as- 
sured him  positively  that  there  would  be  a  place  for 
him  in  his  father's  firm.  The  salary  would  be — well, 
large.  He  might  be  able  to  buy  the  pin  from  his 
salary — delay,  some  weeks,  its  presentation.  If  he 
didn't  buy  the  pin  now,  his  opportunity  with  Ladd 
was  gone. 

And,  anyway,  he  must  go  to  Donchester  and  raise 
the  thousand  that  he  had  borrowed — he  shivered 
slightly  at  the  word — from  the  canvas  trunk.  Thou- 
sand? He'd  only  spent  three  hundred  of  it  so  far. 

On  the  first  step  of  the  short  flight  that  led  to 


74  UNEASY  STREET 

iArabin's,  while  the  watchman  looked  at  him  with 
ready  recognition,  he  stopped.  No  need  of  speaking 
to  the  jeweler  now.  His  deposit  covered  ten  times 
over  the  expense  of  the  alteration  in  the  setting.  He 
could  wait  until  day  after  to-morrow,  anyway. 
There  was  no  hurry. 


VI 


DON'T  worry,"  "Worry  killed  a  cat."  "Attune 
yourself  to  the  infinite  and " 

The  doctors  began  it,  or  thought  that  they  did. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  when  religion  first  emerged 
from  the  fearsome  fog  of  superstition,  it  told  man  to 
hold  to  faith  in  the  goodness  of  God — in  other 
words,  not  to  worry. 

War  itself,  with  its  tendencies  toward  fatalism, 
teaches  one  not  to  worry.  But  Baird,  fresh  from 
warfare,  crumpled  a  newspaper  and  threw  it  on  the 
floor  of  the  train.  He  had  read  an  article  which 
told  that  all  ills  are  of  the  mind.  "If,"  said  the 
author,  "we  attune  ourselves  to  the  infinite " 

Security  had  come  to  Baird  upon  his  return  to 
the  Tramby.  The  clerk  who  handed  him  his  key 
was  smilingly  courteous;  the  elevator-boy  was  al- 
most obsequious.  In  his  absence,  the  maid  had  at- 
tended to  his  room.  The  big  trunk  was  undisturbed. 
Surely  there  was  nothing  of  suspicion  in  the  hotel 
that  related  to  Baird. 

His  first  impulse,  upon  learning  the  cost  of  the 
trinket  for  Eileen  Elsing,  had  been  to  cancel  his 
order.  His  second  was  to  postpone  cancellation. 
His  third  was  the  same  as  his  first. 

But — as  yet  there  was  no  hue  and  cry.  The 
75 


76  UNEASY  STREET 

missing  canvas  trunk  had  evidently  not  been  traced 
to  his  room,  and  if  he  left  the  Tramby  to-day  and 
returned  to-morrow,  and  in  his  absence  the  money 
were  found  in  his  own  big  trunk,  it  would  be  easy 
to  maintain  utter  ignorance  of  the  matter.  And  if 
his  trunk  were  undisturbed,  he  could  replace  the 
money  that  he  had  taken  from  it  and  inform  the 
hotel  authorities,  It  was  unnecessary  to  pay  his 
bill  before  leaving.  Inasmuch  as  he  was  leaving 
practically  all  his  baggage  behind  him,  he  could 
settle  upon  his  return.  It  followed,  therefore,  that 
he  did  not  need  to  take  with  him  the  seven  hundred 
dollars  that  still  remained  to  him  of  the  thousand 
that  he  had  abstracted  from  the  trunk.  Enough  for 
his  fare  to  Donchester —  He  might  as  well  take 
fifty  dollars  with  him.  He  returned  the  balance  to 
the  canvas  trunk,  and  locked  outside  it  his  own  big- 
ger box. 

He  took  with  him  a  small  hand-bag  containing  a 
change  of  linen,  informed  the  clerk  at  the  hotel 
desk  that  he  would  be  gone  overnight,  and  raced  to 
the  Grand  Central  in  a  taxi-cab. 

The  five-o'clock  train  was  a  popular  one.  The 
parlor-car  chairs  were  all  taken,  and  Baird  was  com- 
pelled to  ride  in  a  day  coach. 

But,  somehow,  with  every  minute  that  passed,  his 
distaste  for  his  surroundings  became  more  acute. 
The  people  in  this  day  coach —  Perfectly  decent 
people,  no  doubt  about  that.  But  there  wasn't  one 
of  them  who  wouldn't  have  ridden  in  a  parlor-car  if 
'the  cost  had  not  been  too  great. 

Money!     It  was  the  most  important  thing  in  the 


UNEASY  STREET  77 

world.  Of  course,  a  person  could  be  happy  without 
money,  but  it  was  very  hard  to  be  comfortable 
without  it. 

Back  in  the  Hotel  Tramby  was  a  trunk  that  con- 
tained more  than  two  hundred  thousand  dollars. 
With  that  much  money — •  It  was  then  that  his  eye 
spied  the  don't-worry  article. 

His  lips  twisted  in  a  sneer  as  he  threw  the  paper 
down.  Philosophy  for  fools!  How  could  a  man 
help  worrying  when  he  had  incurred  obligations 
that  were  beyond  his  ability  to  meet? 

But  it  was  a  long  ride  to  Donchester.  Baird  had 
ample  time  in  which  to  review  the  past  twenty-four 
hours.  It  was  quite  true  that  he  had  lost  Eileen 
Elsing's  pin.  But  one  cannot  work  in  a  real-estate 
office  without  acquiring  a  smattering  of  law.  He 
remembered  that  one  of  the  clerks  had  been  attend- 
ing night  law-school  a  few  years  before.  Facing 
an  examination  in  a  subject  termed  "Bailments,"  he 
had  asked  Baird  to  read  him  certain  questions  and 
check  up  on  his  answers. 

And  what,  as  Baird  remembered  it,  had  been  the 
responsibility  of  a  person  who,  for  accommodation, 
not  for  cash,  acted  as  custodian  of  the  property  of 
another?  To  use  ordinary  care — no  more. 

Well,  he  had  certainly  used  ordinary  care.  He 
had  put  Miss  Elsing's  pin  in  his  pocket.  He  would 
have  done  no  more  with  a  jewel  of  his  own.  Cer- 
tainly there  was  no  legal  obligation  on  his  part  to 
replace  the  pin.  As  for  the  moral  obligation — that 
was  different.  Of  course,  he  should  repay.  But  if 
he  couldn't?  Well,  all  he  had  to  do  was  tell  her  so. 


78  UNEASY  STREET 

Before  his  eyes  floated  the  face  of  the  girl.  He 
could  see  those  perfect  eyebrows  lifted,  could  see  the 
faint  curl  of  the  red  lips,  could  almost  feel  the 
contempt  in  the  hot  gray  eyes.  And  she  would  tell 
Blackmar.  He  could  hear  their  conversation. 

"Baird  get  your  pin,  Eileen?"  Blackmar  would 
ask. 

The  girl  would  shrug  her  smooth,  satiny  shoul- 
ders. 

"I  understand  that  he's  just  a  bookkeeper  on  a 
spree.  I  suppose  that  his  salary  would  pay  for  it 
in  a  year  or  two,"  she'd  say. 

"Nasty  little  rotter !"  Blackmar  would  sneer.  "Oh, 
well,  when  a  beggar's  on  horseback,  he  likes  to  pre- 
tend that  he's  a  cavalier.  I'll  have  it  sent  up  to- 
morrow." 

And  they  would  dismiss  him  from  their  thoughts, 
save  when  they  met  Jimmy  Ladd,  at  whom  they 
would  go  od-humo  redly  jibe  for  introducing  a 
welsher  into  their  lives. 

A  welsher !  And  Jimmy  Ladd  would  think  of  his 
old  comrade  in  arms  as  a  man  too  poor  in  spirit  to 
confess  that  he  was  poor  in  worldly  goods. 

Baird,  in  his  room  at  the  Portland,  in  Donchester 
— a  room  whose  dinginess  offended  his  eye  after  the 
luxury  of  the  Tramby — awakened  next  morning  with 
his  mind  made  up.  He  must  pay  the  price,  the  price 
of  humiliation.  Furthermore,  he  wouldn't  sell  his 
property.  He'd  taken  three  hundred  and  fifty  dol- 
lars from  the  canvas  trunk.  To  pay  his  bill  at  the 
Tramby — well,  a  loan  of  four  hundred  dollars  would 
be  more  than  enough,  counting  what  he  still  had 


UNEASY  STREET  79 

with  him.  He'd  give  a  mortgage  for  that  much.  If 
he  sold  the  land,  he'd  be  under  the  temptation  of 
spending  it,  and  it  was  his  only  security  against  mis- 
hap. 

Of  course,  it  might  be  argued  that  he  ought  to 
realize  all  that  he  could  and  give  Eileen  Elsing  the 
proceeds  on  account,  but — if  he  waited  until  condi- 
tions in  the  real-estate  market  were  better,  he  would 
realize  just  so  much  more.  It  would  go  to  her, 
he  told  himself  sternly.  She'd  have  to  wait. 

He  breakfasted  hurriedly.  He  was  at  the  office 
of  Raymond  &  Gerritt  at  two  minutes  past  nine.  He 
got  right  down  to  business  with  the  real-estate  men. 
He  waved  aside  congratulations  upon  his  safe  re- 
turn from  France. 

•"You  know  my  lot  in  Linestream?"  Gerritt,  the 
junior  partner,  nodded  assent.  "I  want  to  borrow 
four  hundred  on  it,"  said  Baird.  Gerritt  pursed  his 
lips. 

"All  right.  But  why  don't  you  sell?  We  have  a 
client  who'll  pay  twelve  hundred " 

"You  offered  me  fifteen  hundred  two  years  ago," 
said  Baird. 

"The  real-estate  market  is  stagnant,"  remarked 
Gerritt.  "However,  our  client  might  go  to  thirteen 
hundred." 

Baird  shook  his  head. 

"Don't  want  to  sell.  I  want  four  hundred  for — * 
oh,  make  it  a  couple  of  years.  And  I  want  the 
money  to-day — this  morning." 

Gerritt  nodded. 

"Have  it  for  you  at  noon.     But  prices  are  sag- 


80  UNEASY  STREET 

ging,  Baird.  Better  take  thirteen  hundred  and  get 
out  from  under." 

"Thanks,  no,"  said  Baird.  "I'll  be  back  at  noon, 
then." 

Outside,  he  whistled  softly.  Realty  conditions 
weren't  as  bad  as  he'd  pessimistically  imagined.  An 
offhand  offer  of  thirteen  hundred  meant  that,  if  he 
had  time  to  bargain,  he  might  get  as  much  as  he'd 
been  offered  two  years  ago.  Oh,  well — all  the  more 
proof  that,  if  he  hung  on  a  few  months,  he'd  get, 
perhaps,  two  thousand.  Better  for  Miss  Elsing  to 
wait  a  few  months  and  for  him  to  get  more. 

He  turned  toward  the  office  of  Robbins  &  Robbins. 
The  stenographer  was  the  first  to  spy  him.  She 
gave  a  little  shriek.  The  other  clerks  saw  him;  he 
was  in  the  midst  of  a  congratulatory  little  throng 
that  did  much  to  restore  the  self-esteem  that  he  had 
lost  in  the  last  two  days. 

"The  bosses  in?"  His  voice  unconsciously  low- 
ered, and  he  flushed  resentfully.  He,  lately  an  of- 
ficer in  the  United  States  army,  whispered  when  he 
mentioned  the  men  who  had  employed  him. 

Andrews,  one  of  the  salesmen,  winked  warningly. 

"Better  handle  'em  careful,  old  top.  You  know — 
the  old  New  England  conscience  stuff." 

Baird  stared. 

"I  don't  get  you,"  he  said. 

Andrews  shrugged. 

"Your  little  party  at  the  Central  night  before 
last." 

"What  about  it?"  demanded  Baird.  He  colored 
again. 


UNEASY  STREET  81 

Andrews  winked;  there  was  extreme  sophistica- 
tion, so  Andrews  thought,  in  the  wink. 

"New  Year's  comes  but  once  a  year,  of  course," 
he  said.  "But  this  slipping  the  kale  into  a  lady's 

stocking •  You  know,"  went  on  Andrews,  "it 

isn't  done  in  Donchester." 

"Who  saw  me?"  demanded  Baird. 

"Herbert,"  replied  the  salesman.  "He  was  over 
on  some  business  or  other.  Got  back  yesterday 
afternoon.  Told  us  all  about  it — some  swell  friends 
you  must  have,  all  right,"  he  said  enviously.  "Well, 
Herbert  didn't  stop  in  the  outer  office.  He  told  the 
bosses.  Mamie" — he  referred  to  the  stenographer — 
"was  in  there.  And  the  old  boys  were  sure  shocked." 

Baird  squared  his  shoulders.  "Herbert"  was  the 
nephew  of  the  two  brothers  Robbins.  He  was  not 
employed  by  the  firm,  but,  an  attorney,  he  did  con- 
siderable work  for  them.  It  was  just  like  the  sneak- 
ing little  slacker — Herbert  had  claimed  a  dependent 
in  the  draft  who,  Baird  had  known,  was  not  as  de- 
pendent as  young  Robbins  pretended — to  tell  his 
uncles.  He  walked  brusquely  into  the  inner  office. 

The  two  brothers  Robbins  sat  at  twin  desks. 
Clean-shaven,  with  upper  lips  somewhat  too  long 
and  thin  for  generosity,  they  looked  almost  like 
twins. 

"I've  come  back  to  work,"  said  Baird  tersely.  He 
didn't  care  a  hoot  whether  they  liked  his  manner  or 
not.  Listening  to  gossip  about  a  man  who'd  just 
returned  from  abroad 

Both    brothers    rose.      They    shook    hands    con- 


82  UNEASY  STREET 

strainedly.  Each  seemed  to  wait  for  the  other  to 
speak. 

"You  telegraphed  me,"  Baird  said. 

The  younger  cleared  his  throat. 

"Why,  yes,  of  course,  Baird,  of  course.  But  I — • 
ah "  " 

The  elder  brother  took  up  the  burden. 

"We — ah — we'd  hoped,  Baird,  that  participation 
in  the  great  crusade  would  have — ah — er — purified 
you,  as  it  were,  by  fire,  and — ah " 

He  stopped,  helplessly.  Baird  eyed  him  coldly. 
Within  him  was  rising  a  resentment  that  fought  for 
outlet. 

"But  even  if  I'm  not  purified,"  he  said,  "my  job 
is  waiting  for  me?" 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  said  the  elder  brother. 
"Most  assuredly,  but — er — we  were  most  surprised 
— most  surprised  at  hearing  of  your  conduct  night 
before  last  in  New  York." 

"Yes?  Just  what  did  I  do  that  surprised  you?" 
asked  Baird. 

The  brothers  looked  at  each  other. 

"You  were  drinking — drinking  most  heavily,  Mr. 
Baird.  And  you  know  that  we  permit  none  of  our 
employees  to  drink.  We  shall  most  certainly  insist 
upon  an  assurance,  Mr.  Baird,  that,  while  you  are 
in  our  employ,  you  refrain  utterly  from  touching 
liquor." 

"I  see.  Any  other  little  things  you  want  me  to 
promise?" 

The  elder  brother  frowned. 

"Your  attitude  is  not  conciliatory,  Mr.  Baird,*' 


UNEASY  STREET  83 

he  said  reprovingly.  "And  there  is  something  else. 
Putting  money  in  a  waitress's  stocking  is  not — ah — • 
the  sort  of  thing  that  we  can  countenance." 

"I  see,"  said  Baird.  Impulsive,  hot-tempered, 
their  seeming  injustice  fired  him  to  instant  wrath. 

"Don't  want  me  to  take  a  class  in  Sunday-school, 
ido  you?"  he  queried. 

"Now,  now,  Mr.  Baird ;  this  is  not  at  all  the  sort 
of  way  to  talk,"  remonstrated  the  younger  brother. 

"How  about  the  way  you're  talking  to  me?"  de- 
manded Baird.  "Is  it  any  of  your  business  what  I 
do  outside  this  office?" 

"It  certainly  is !"  snapped  the  elder  brother.  "No 
employee  of  ours  can  be  outrageously  and  publicly 
immoral." 

"There  were  some  fairly  respectable  citizens  in 
the  Central  Tuesday  night,"  said  Baird. 

The  brothers  sniffed. 

"Donchester,  thank  God,  has  different  standards 
of  respectability  from  New  York,"  said  the  younger. 

"Your  nephew  was  there,"  said  Baird. 

The  brothers  stiffened. 

"As  a  sightseer,"  said  the  elder.  "Not  as  a  par- 
ticipant in  a  godless  orgy." 

"That's  what  he  tells  you." 

The  brothers  exchanged  glances. 

"Your  manner,"  said  the  younger,  "is  not — er — 
repentant,  Mr.  Baird." 

The  flame  of  anger  burned  brightly  now. 

"If  I  were,  I'd  tell  God  about  it — not  you  two !" 
he  cried.  "Does  a  job  here  mean  that  I  must  apolo- 


84  UNEASY  STREET 

gize  for  everything  you  don't  happen  to  approve  of? 
Because,  if  it  does,  I  don't  want  your  job." 

The  partners  stared  at  him.  The  man  who  had 
left  them  eighteen  months  ago  had  been  a  meek  per- 
son. 

"While  you  are  in  this  frame  of  mind,"  said  the 
elder,  "it  would  perhaps  be  as  well  if  you  did  not 
come  back,  Mr.  Baird." 

"You  said  it  just  ahead  of  me,"  said  Baird. 

He  walked,  almost  blindly,  from  the  office.  He 
responded  curtly  to  the  questions  of  the  clerks  in  the 
outer  office.  "I'm  through,"  he  told  them.  "Those 
godly  gentlemen  are  too  much  for  me.  They'd  fore- 
close a  mortgage  with  a  grin,  but  because  a  man  at- 
tends a  New  Year's  party "  He  stalked  from 

the  building. 

From  a  cigar  store  he  called  up  Raymond  & 
Gerritt. 

"I'll  take  that  thirteen  hundred  if  I  can  get  the 
cash  by  noon,"  he  told  the  junior  partner. 

"You'll  have  it  by  noon,"  Gerritt  promised. 


VII 


THE  night  clerk  at  the  Tramby  greeted  Baird 
by  name.  His  smile,  as  he  handed  over  the 
room  key,  was  cordial. 

"No  mail,  Captain,"  he  said. 

His  nonchalant  manner  restored  momentarily 
Baird's  confidence,  which  had  lessened  as  the  dis- 
tance to  the  Tramby  had  lessened.  If  anything 
was  wrong,  surely  the  clerk's  manner  would  have 
indicated  it. 

In  his  room,  with  the  door  carefully  locked  be- 
hind him,  he  examined  his  trunk.  Its  contents  were 
still  undisturbed.  He  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed  and  wiped  his  forehead  with  a  trembling  hand. 

It  had  been  a  full  day !  Definitely  he  had  cut  all 
ties  that  had  bound  him  to  his  former  life.  Don- 
chester  lay  behind,  not  merely  the  five-hour  train- 
journey  but  a  cycle  of  existence  in  the  rear. 

Forty-eight  hours'  ago,  Baird  had  been  an  easy- 
going sort  of  chap,  adaptable,  content,  averagely 
ambitious.  But  to-night — 

Excitement  had  carried  him  along  through  the 
forenoon  and  half  the  afternoon  in  Donchester. 
But  once  aboard  the  train,  with  the  proceeds  of  the 
sale  of  his  Linestream  property  in  his  pocket,  reac- 

85 


86  UNEASY  STREET 

tion  had  set  in.  Up  to  now,  he  had  assumed  that,  if, 
in  his  absence,  a  search  of  his  trunk  should  reveal 
the  money  therein,  he  could  deny  all  knowledge  of 
the  matter. 

But,  as  the  train  sped  along  toward  New  York, 
doubt  began  to  arise.  For  instance,  he  would  have 
to  convince  the  hotel  people — the  police,  too — that 
it  was  quite  reasonable  to  assume  that  whoever  had 
left  the  money  had  possessed  a  key  to  Baird's  trunk. 
Of  course,  it  was  not  an  impossibility  that  a 
stranger  should  own  such  a  key,  but  it  was  rather  an 
incredibility.  He  had  no  clear  idea  of  what  his 
actions  would  be  if  suspicion  met  him  at  the  hotel. 

Now,  with  the  contents  of  the  canvas  trunk  in- 
tact, he  could  realize  how  dangerous  had  been  his 
position  while  he  had  been  away.  For  if  it  had  been 
discovered,  and  its  rightful  owner  had  known  the 
exact  amount  that  should  have  been  in  it —  Come 
to  think  of  it,  the  canvas  trunk  was  packed  most 
oddly.  The  money  had  been  thrust  in  higgledy- 
piggledy.  And  you  simply  couldn't  get  around  the 
dazing  fact  that  there  had  been  no  hue  and  cry 
raised  about  its  loss. 

There  had  been  no  inquiry  made  about  this  money! 
That  was  the  great  outstanding  fact,  potential  of 
illicit  profit,  pregnant  with  possibility. 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders, 
as  though  tossing  away  a  physical  burden.  He 
walked  to  the  telephone.  The  sort  of  thoughts  that 
were  seething  in  his  brain  were  not  the  proper  guests 
for  his  mind  to  entertain.  He'd  been  long  enough  in 


UNEASY  STREET  87 

his  room  for  him  to  have  discovered  the  money.  If 
he  telephoned  now,  he  would  be  acquitted  of  any 
possible  charge  that  anyone  could  bring  against  him. 
Whereas,  if  he  delayed,  question  might  be  raised 
against  his  honesty. 

His  honesty!  The  legacy  of  generations  of  de- 
cent, law-abiding  men  and  respectable,  modest 
women!  Why,  he  wasn't  even  dreaming  of  tossing 
that  legacy  aside !  It  had  been  all  right  enough  to 
borrow,  for  twenty-four  or  thirty-six  hours,  money 
that  he  could  replace  without  difficulty,  but — 

The  telephone-bell  rang  as  he  lifted  the  receiver 
from  the  hook. 

"Captain  Baird?" 

He  left  a  delightful  shiver  run  up  his  back.  The 
last  voice  that  he  had  expected  to  hear,  yet  the  most 
welcome. 

"Miss  Elsing!" 

Her  laugh  was  merry. 

"Do  you  mean  it,  Captain  Baird?" 

"Mean  what?"  he  stammered. 

She  laughed  again. 

"I'm  a  vain  thing,  Captain  Baird.  Do  you  know, 
I'm  so  conceited  that  I  thought  that  your  voice 
sounded,  well — pleased." 

"My  voice  is  the  truest  barometer  of  my  heart," 
he  assured  her. 

"You've  improved,"  she  told  him.  "Does  home 
always  do  that  for  you?" 

"New  York  is  my  home  now,"  he  answered. 

"Its  effect  is  almost  instant,  isn't  it?" 


88 

"Perhaps  it  isn't  New  York  that's  the  cause; 
it  might  be  you,"  he  said. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  laughed,  "that  there  isn't 
a  great  deal  of  sense  to  what  you  say?" 

"Do  you  demand  sanity  from  your  worshipers?" 

"Aren't  we  breathless,  though?" 

"Why  delay?"  he  demanded. 

"Why,  indeed!" 

It  was  the  merest  hint  at  flirtation,  but — Baird 
thrilled. 

"I  suppose,"  she  said,  "that  you're  wondering 
why  I  am  so  unmaidenly,  not  to  say  brazen,  as  to 
telephone  you?" 

"Do  we  question  the  gifts  of  the  gods?"  he  re- 
torted. 

The  faintest,  most  delightful  whistle  came  along 
the  wire. 

"Captain  Baird,  you  amaze  me!  I  feared  you 
were  a  stick." 

"And  now  the  stick  puts  forth  leaves." 

"Pretty  flowers,"  she  countered. 

"I  am  bowing,"  he  told  her. 

"I  courtesy  to  you,  Captain  Baird.  But — I 
didn't  phone  for  all  this,  delightful  though  it  is. 
You  didn't  know  my  address.  And  you  are  to  dine 
with  me  to-morrow  evening.  The  Creighton  Arms, 
on  West  Fifty-ninth  Street,  at  seven." 

"I  suppose,"  he  said,  "that  Jimmy  would  have 
told  me." 

"Intimating,  forward  youth,  that  I  thought  up 
an  excuse?" 


UNEASY  STREET  89 

"Did  you?"  he  asked. 

"For  your  vanity,  you  shall  be  punished,  sir.  I 
shall  invite  Jimmy  to  dinner " 

"No !"  he  begged. 

"And  Sam  Blackmar."     She  was  very  severe. 

"No!  No!"  he  cried.  "The  Constitution  says 
that  we  are  not  to  suffer  cruel  and  unusual  punish- 
ments, Miss  Elsing." 

"Well — you  should  be  punished,  you  know.  I 
might — heap  coals  of  fire  on  your  head.  I  might 
admit  that  my  telephoning  was — an  excuse  to  talk. 
But  I  won't.  Good-night,  sir." 

He  heard  the  click  of  the  instrument.  Dazedly  he 
hung  up.  Of  course,  a  girl  like  her — engaged  to  a 
multimillionaire — wouldn't  look  at  a  chap  like  him- 
self, but —  The  bell  rang  again.  It  was  Jimmy 
Ladd. 

"Took  a  chance,  old  topper,  that  you'd  be  back. 
So  excited,  anyway,  that  if  you  hadn't  been  in,  I'd 
have  talked  to  the  hotel  operator.  Must  talk  to 
somebody  when  you  have  something  to  say,  eh?" 

Baird  laughed. 

"What's  on  your  soul,  Jimmy?" 

"On  my  soul,  Jimmy?  How  familiar  you  are! 
Do  you  know  that  you're  talking  to  a  man  of  power, 
place,  and  influence?  I  suppose,  in  your  benighted 
ignorance,  that  you  think  that  you're  talking  to 
the  wastrel  son  of  James  McPherson  Ladd,  senior." 

"What  on  earth  have  you  been  drinking,  Jimmy?" 

"Who?  Me?  My  boy" — the  voice  was  suddenly 
solemn — "you  couldn't  push  a  drink  down  past  my 


90  UNEASY  STREET 

prohibitory  tonsils  if  you  used  a  battering-ram. 
Roddy  me  lad,  you  are  now  listening  to  the  junior 
partner  of  the  firm  of  James  McPherson  Ladd  & 
Company." 

Baird  trembled. 

"On  the  level,  Jimmy?" 

"Yea,  verily,  comrade  in  arms!  Father  didn't 
wait  four  days.  Sent  for  me  to-night.  Old  boy 
feeling  sort  of  down.  Only  heir  comes  to  him.  Hand- 
shake. 'Son,'  says  ancient  sire,  'I  have  pursued 
wrong  tactics.  Made  a  fool  of  you.  Now  will  pur- 
sue correct  dope.  Make  you  a  partner,  give  you 
equal  responsibilities,  and  you  will  cut  the  red-eye. 
Eh,  what?'" 

There  were  sounds  of  a  laughing  struggle  at  the 
other  end  of  the  telephone.  Then  a  voice  deeper 
than  that  of  Jimmy  spoke  to  Baird. 

"This  is  the  senile  sire  to  whom  my  irreverent 
son  refers,  Captain  Baird.  He  is  a  graceless  vaga- 
bond, eh?  I  think  that  he  has  no  redeeming  vir- 
tues. Which  is  why  I  love  him.  I've  been  fighting 
him  all  my  life,  and  I'm  tired.  He  wins.  I  shall 
probably  live  long  enough  to  see  my  name  printed 
in  bankruptcy,  but " 

Another  struggle  sounded  over  the  wire.  Then 
Jimmy  spoke  again. 

"Age  has  robbed  him  of  his  optimism,  Roddy. 
Well,  well,  you  and  I  together  will  show  him  a  little 
business  jazz." 

Quite  evenly,  Baird  spoke. 

"You  really  think  there's  a  place  for  me  in  your 
office?" 


UNEASY  STREET  91 

"Think  so?  I  don't  know  what  Eileen  Elsing 
would  say  if  I  didn't  fix  it  for  you  to  remain  in 
New  York." 

"I  don't  think  I  understand,  Jimmy." 

Anxiously,  Jimmy  spoke. 

"Well,  for  gosh  sake,  don't  Twwunderstand,  Roddy 
old  top.  That  was  a  j  oke  in  bad  taste :  Eileen  has 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  /  want  you ;  you're  the  laddie 
buck  I  need.  But" — and  he  chuckled — "I  don't  think 
Eileen  will  mind  a  bit.  And  it  will  do  Blackmar  a 
lot  of  good.  Success  is  making  his  liver  torpid." 

Into  his  tone,  Baird  tried  to  put  an  incredulous 
jeer. 

"As  if  she'd  look  at  me!  When  she's  going  to 
marry  Blackmar!" 

Jimmy  Ladd  laughed. 

"Marriage  isn't  going  to  put  any  blinders  over 
Eileen's  eyes,  boy.  It'll  take  'em  off.  Dining  with 
her  to-morrow  night,  eh?  How  about  Saturday 
with  us?" 

"It's  a  go,"  said  Baird. 

"Fine  stuff!  And,  meantime,  be  a  good  boy  and 
say  your  prayers  with  an  extra  one  for  all  the  nice 
kindly  barkeepers.  There's  a  long,  hard  winter 
ahead  of  them.  I'm  on  the  wagon  now.  By-by." 

Baird  stood  a  moment  by  the  telephone.  All  that 
he  had  to  do  was  call  the  office  now,  tell  them  of 
the  money  in  the  canvas  trunk,  and — kick  Oppor- 
tunity down  the  front  stoop. 

He  walked  over  to  his  trunk.  Deliberately  he  took 
out  of  the  canvas  trunk  inside  three  thousand  dol- 
lars. He  wouldn't  postpone  until  to-morrow  what 


92  UNEASY  STREET 

he  knew  was  to  be  done.  He'd  take  the  money  now! 
Decision  made,  his  mind  was  suddenly  at  peace.  He 
was  asleep  three  minutes  after  the  lights  were  turned 
out. 


VIII 

fTHHERE  is  no  more  famous  jewelry  shop  in  the 
-»•  world  than  that  of  Arabin's.  Its  exterior 
resembles  a  great  bank,  its  interior  the  dream  of 
Aladdin. 

One  passes  through  a  revolving  door,  embarrass- 
edly  conscious  of  the  scrutiny  of  a  uniformed  door- 
man. One  hesitates — unless  one  is  a  millionaire — a 
bit  uncertainly  beyond  the  entrance.  Well-bred 
salesmen  eye  one  aloofly.  Sauntering  along  the 
aisles  are  other  well-dressed,  well-born-seeming  gen- 
tlemen. They  seem  to  bear  no  relationship  to  the 
heavy-hoofed  detectives  seen  in  hotels  and  banks. 
Yet  the  initiate  know  that  the  tails  of  frock  coats 
may  hide  automatic  pistols,  that  a  most  husky  chest 
may  rise  and  fall  beneath  a  correct  cravat. 

Seldom,  save  during  the  Christmas  shopping-sea- 
son, is  there  any  crowd  in  Arabin's.  The  stranger 
wonders  how  the  great  concern  succeeds.  And  then, 
perhaps,  he  overhears  a  fragment  of  the  conversa- 
tion between  a  customer  and  a  languid,  though 
courteous  clerk.  One  notes  that  the  trifle  under 
examination  by  the  customer  is  priced  at  ninety- 
five  thousand  dollars  or  so.  One  understands. 

At  his  late  breakfast  at  the  Tramby,  this  Friday 
morning,  Baird  had  been  attracted  by  one  of  Web- 

93 


94  UNEASY  STREET 

ster's  cartoons  in  an  afternoon  paper.  It  was 
headed:  "The  Thrill  That  Comes  Once  in  a  Life- 
time." A  small  boy  was  looking  at  a  circus  parade. 
Baird  had  recognized  the  cartoonist's  gift  for  catch- 
ing the  quick  joys  of  boyhood.  Now,  as  he  hesi- 
tated momentarily,  he  remembered  the  picture  and 
smiled  at  his  own  thrill.  Arabin's  was  to  him  what 
the  circus  was  to  the  small  boy. 

Arabin  was  not  in  his  office,  but  his  smiling  secre- 
tary took  Baird  in. 

"Miss  Elsing's  pin?  I  think  it's  ready,  Captain 
Baird." 

He  pressed  a  button;  a  dapper  youth  responded. 
In  three  minutes  the  secretary  was  opening  a  dainty 
box.  Against  its  purple-satin  lining  the  pin  gleamed 
and  glittered.  In  fancy,  Baird  saw  it  against  the 
chiffon  covering  of  Eileen's  bosom.  There  was  noth- 
ing of  hesitation  in  the  movements  of  his  fingers 
whereby  thirty-three  hundred  and  twenty-two  dol- 
lars were  transferred  from  his  pocket  to  the  clerk. 

No  one  would  pick  his  pocket  this  time;  no  care- 
lessness would  lose  this  pin.  Inside  his  waistcoat  he 
buried  the  little  box.  Against  it  his  heart  beat 
furiously.  His  color  was  high  as  he  left  the  shop- 
ping-place of  wealth. 

He  was  as  indecisive  as  most  persons.  He  was 
normal,  had  the  normal  brain.  And  the  normal 
brain  is  as  variable  as  an  April  day.  But  he  had 
the  element  that  makes  for  success  in  life.  Having 
wandered  uncertainly  all  round  a  problem,  he  could 
finally,  having  reluctantly  made  up  his  mind,  follow 


UNEASY  STREET  95 

through  on  the  course  chosen  with  no  lingering  un- 
willingness. 

He  had  made  his  decision  last  night.  There  were, 
as  yet,  no  qualms  of  regret.  He  had  decided  that 
it  was  necessary  to  his  career,  to  his  success,  that 
Eileen's  pin  be  given  to  her.  It  was  a  condition,  not 
a  theory,  that  confronted  him.  He  had  met  the  con- 
dition. Let  theories  go  hang! 

Idly,  his  lifting  chest  feeling  the  pressure  of  the 
little  box  in  his  waistcoat's  inner  pocket,  Baird 
started  up  the  avenue.  Limousines,  taxis,  occasional 
hansoms,  lured  from  their  stables  by  the  soft  air, 
passed  him,  crowded  with  people  whose  furs  cried 
of  prosperity.  Even  those  who  rode  the  more  demo- 
cratic 'buses  were  garbed  expensively.  It  was  the 
"spendingest"  year  that  New  York,  accustomed 
though  she  was  to  spending,  had  ever  known.  But 
Baird,  though  unaware  that  even  New  York  asked 
itself  dazed,  the  question,  "Where  do  they  get  the 
money?"  felt  himself  wondering  what  was  the  ap- 
parently inexhaustible  source  of  the  revenues  that 
the  country  paid  to  Manhattan. 

He  passed  Forty-second  Street,  still  drinking  in 
the  wonder  of  the  street.  Power,  glamour — and 
glory!  Money  meant  that.  It  might  be  an  un- 
worthy sort  of  glory,  but  surely  there  was  some- 
thing legitimate  in  the  exultant  pleasure  that  a  man 
took  in  his  money.  A  thing  inherently  wrong  could 
not  exist  for  thousands  of  years.  Therefore,  wealth 
was  legitimate.  Its  acquisition —  But  who  cared 
about  that?  To  have  it — that  was  what  counted. 

He  reached  Fifty-ninth  Street   and   remembered 


96  UNEASY  STREET 

that  Eileen  lived  on  this  street.  He  was  to  dine 
with  her  to-night,  and — he  ought  to  have  apparel 
suitable  to  the  occasion. 

In  his  pockets  were  over  a  thousand  dollars.  Of 
course,  ready-made  evening  clothes  were  all  right, 
but —  He  had  passed  a  most  expensive-looking  shop 
a  few  streets  south.  He  retraced  his  steps  and 
entered  it.  An  inconspicuous  sign  in  the  window 
said,  "Tailored  clothing  without  the  annoyance  of  a 
try-on."  They  might  possibly  fit  him. 

They  could,  quite  correctly.  He  ordered  a  dinner 
jacket  and  a  formal  evening  suit  sent  by  special 
messenger  to  the  Tramby. 

Farther  down  the  avenue  he  found  a  haberdash- 
ery. The  clerk  shrugged  superciliously  at  being 
asked  to  show  ready-to-wear  shirts,  but — there  were 
some  excellent  soft  and  stiff  shirts  at  seven  dollars. 
They  would  do,  of  course,  for  an  emergency — indeed, 
they  were  carried  only  as  samples,  really,  of  what 
the  firm  could  do ;  they  would  fit,  yes,  but —  Baird 
left  with  four  shirts,  an  assortment  of  collars  and 
ties,  some  really  excellent  links  and  studs  that  cost 
the  mere  trifle  of  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  dol- 
lars, and  had  been  measured  for  a  dozen  outing 
shirts  and  half  a  dozen  dress  shirts.  At  another 
shop,  he  bought  shoes  suitable  for  evening  wear. 
Then,  in  a  taxi,  he  raced  to  the  Tramby.  He  had 
no  fears,  this  time,  upon  entering  the  lobby.  If  dis- 
covery had  been  made,  he  would  brazen  it  out. 

But  discovery  had  not  been  made.  The  clerk's 
friendly  smile  as  he  received  his  key  was  proof 
enough  of  that.  Up-stairs,  in  his  room,  he  counted 


UNEASY  STREET  97 

his  money  ruefully.  He  had  spent,  in  adornment 
for  himself,  in  the  neighborhood  of  six  hundred  dol- 
lars. 

Then  he  laughed.  It  was  a  good  investment.  A 
man  who  was  to  hold  a  prominent  position  in  the 
firm  of  James  McPherson  Ladd  &  Company  could 
well  afford  good  clothing. 

Dressed  finally,  he  surveyed  himself  in  the  long 
mirror  that  backed  the  bathroom  door.  Not  so 
bad.  He  removed  the  dress  coat  and  the  white 
waistcoat.  It  was  to  be  an  informal  little  dinner — 
just  himself  and  the  girl.  A  dinner  jacket  would 
do —  He'd  wear  it. 

At  the  door,  he  paused  and  looked  at  the  trunk. 
It  was  locked  all  right.  To-morrow,  he'd  look  up 
rooms.  Meantime,  he'd  not  worry.  His  mouth  was 
hard,  cynical,  as  he  locked  the  door  and  started  for 
Eileen's  apartment. 

But  it  was  soft  when  the  tiny  lift  in  the  building 
where  she  lived  deposited  him  opposite  her  door. 
And  it  was  wreathed  pleasurably  when  the  door 
opened  and  the  girl  herself  stood  before  him. 

She  dropped  him  a  mock  courtesy  as  he,  with  a 
daring  that  he  had  not  known  himself  to  possess, 
kissed  her  hand. 

"My  poverty  does  not  annoy  you,  then?'* 

"  'Poverty'  ?"  He  looked  down  the  short  hall,  ob- 
serving the  prettily  furnished  drawing-room. 

"I  have  but  one  maid,"  she  pouted,  "and  she  is 
in  the  kitchen.  I  answer  the  bell  myself  to-night." 

He  hung  up  his  overcoat  and  followed  her  down, 
the  hall. 


98  UNEASY  STREET 

"I  see  you  that  much  the  sooner,"  he  told  her. 

She  smiled  at  him. 

"Do  you  know,  Captain  Baird,  I  like  your  pretty 
speeches." 

They  were  in  the  drawing-room  now.  Beyond  it- 
he  could  see  a  tiny  dining-room,  its  table  daintily 
set. 

But  the  rooms,  delightful  though  they  were,  were 
but  a  setting  for  her.  He  had  seen  her,  sophis- 
ticated-seeming, in  evening  dress.  He  had  seen  her, 
still  with  her  air  of  extreme  worldly  wisdom,  in  a 
snug  tailored  suit  whose  boyishness  could  not  take 
away  her  look  of  knowledge.  But  to-night  she  was 
a  simple  girl. 

Her  hair  was  low  upon  her  head,  a  huge  mass  of  it 
in  the  rear,  hiding  the  nape  of  a  neck  that  he  knew 
was  white  as  snow.  Her  dress  was  white,  not  nearly 
so  low  as  that  dress  she  had  worn  at  the  Chummy 
Club  and  the  Central,  yet  permitting  a  hint  of  a 
gentle  bosom.  About  her  neck  was  a  string  of 
pearls. 

She  pirouetted  before  him. 

"You  like  my  frock?" 

"I  adore  it — and  you,"  he  told  her. 

Her  mouth  pursed,  but  her  eyes  were  merry.  He 
noted,  for  the  first  time,  the  extreme  length  of  her 
lashes. 

"I  see,"  she  said,  "that  I  shall  have  extreme  diffi- 
culty in  keeping  you  in  hand,  Captain  Baird." 

"You  have  merely  to  close  your  fingers;  I  am  in 
your  hand  now,"  he  said. 

She  whirled  about  again.     He  had  danced  with 


UNEASY  STREET  99 

her,  yet  he  had  not  realized  how  lissomely  graceful 
she  was.  Nor  how  alluringly  girlish. 

She  was  like  a  diamond,  that  in  one  light  gleams 
brilliantly  cold,  and  that  in  another  shines  hotly, 
and  that  in  another  is  soft  and  translucent  as  a  drop 
of  water. 

To-night,  she  was  soft.  She  radiated  not  merely 
innocence  but  ignorance  of  the  harsher,  the  meaner 
things  of  life.  And  this  was  the  girl  that  he  had 
condemned,  termed  mercenary,  merely  because,  a 
girl,  she  permitted  the  inevitable  facts  of  life  to 
mold  her  career.  He  didn't  blame  her.  She  was  no 
Hausfrau.  The  finer  things  of  life — they  belonged 
to  her  by  right. 

From  his  pocket  he  drew  the  little  Arabin  box. 
Her  eyes  flashed  with  pleasure  as  he  handed  it  to 
her.  She  opened  it,  and  from  its  satin  nest  took 
the  pin. 

"You  may  pin  it  on,"  she  told  him. 

Clumsily,  holding  his  breath,  he  forced  his  shaky 
hands  to  put  the  clasp  through  the  shimmery  white 
stuff  of  which  her  gown  was  made.  He  exhaled 
deeply  when  the  gracious  task  was  performed. 

"Shut  your  eyes,"  she  commanded. 

He  did  so.  He  felt  two  light  hands  upon  his 
shoulders.  He  knew  that  she  was  on  tiptoe.  For 
the  merest  fraction  of  a  second,  her  lips  touched  his. 
It  was  the  sort  of  kiss  that  a  primary-school  girl 
might  give  her  brother,  yet  it  burned  its  way  into 
Baird's  very  heart. 

He  reached  for  her.  With  a  laugh,  she  eluded 
him. 


100  UNEASY  STREET 

"You  have  been  paid,'*  she  warned.  "There  must 
be  no  usury." 

His  mouth  quivered.  Then  he  forced  his  lips  into 
a  smile. 

"Not  even  a  legal  rate  of  interest?" 

She  pretended  a  frown. 

"Do  you  dare  to  intimate  that  you  have  not  been 
paid  ten  times  over?" 

"I  could  not  be  guilty  of  such  a  thing,"  he  said. 

Her  mock  frown  vanished.     She  smiled. 

"Captain  Baird,  you're  nice!    I  like  you.'* 

Before  he  could  reply,  a  trim  mulatto  maid  an- 
nounced dinner. 


IX 


YOU  don't  care  for  them?     But  perhaps  you 
wanted  a  cocktail  first?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Not  to-night,  thank  you." 

"I'm  glad,"   she  whispered. 

He  glowed.  It  was  as  though,  somehow,  she  had 
taken  a  deep  interest  in  his  well-being,  had  decided 
that  alcohol  militated  against  that  well-being,  and 
as  though  he  had  cheerfully  made  a  great  sacrifice 
to  prove  his  great  devotion.  She  had  that  gift  of 
making  the  trifle  seem  of  importance,  because  it  was 
invested  with  her  personality. 

"No,"  he  grinned;  "it  isn't  that  I  don't  care  for 
them."  He  eyed  the  hors-d'osuvres  upon  his  plate. 
"It's  simply  that  it's  all  so — wonderful." 

She  laughed. 

"Hors-d'oeuvres  wonderful?  There  is  a  delicates- 
sen store  on  Sixth  Avenue  where  I  buy  them,  and  the 
wonderful  thing  about  them  is  the  price  they  charge. 
That's  all." 

"I  didn't  mean  that  at  all,"  he  responded.  "And 
you  know  it." 

She  pursed  her  lips.  Her  eyes  held  dancing 
gleams.  She  lifted  her  shoulders  and  dropped  them 
with  a  heavy  sigh. 

101 


102  UNEASY  STREET 

"Of  course  I  know  it,  Captain."  Her  voice  was 
dramatic.  "I  know  that  you  are  thrilled,  exalted, 
by  my  nearness.  I  know  that  in  your  heart  a  song 
is  singing,  and " 

Her  mockery  was  open  now.  Beneath  it  he  col- 
ored resentfully.  She  was  quick  to  read  his  thoughts. 
Her  voice  changed.  It  was  no  longer  mock  serious, 
but  truly  so.  There  was  a  little  of  disappointed 
petulance  in  it,  too. 

"From  France  you  should  have  brought  back  one 
thing,  anyway,"  she  told  him.  "Finesse.  Captain 
Baird,  I'd  love  to  flirt  with  you,  only — I'm  afraid 
that  I  couldn't  be  sure  that  you  were  really  flirt- 
ing." 

He  bowed  across  the  little  table. 

"One  might  begin  by  flirting,  but  the  game  would 
soon  become  serious,  Miss  Elsing." 

She  approved  him  with  her  eyes. 

"That's  better." 

She  ate  her  little  square  of  toast,  caviar-covered. 

He  had  never  tasted  caviar  before.  He  did  not 
like  it.  The  asparagus  tips,  in  their  creamy  sauce, 
pleased  him  better. 

"Tell  me  something  about  yourself,"  she  said. 

"There  is  so  little,  Miss  Elsing."  He  shrugged. 
"For  twenty-six  years  I  emulated  the  clam.  Then  I 
met  you.  That  was  three — is  it  days  ago?" 

"Does  it  seem  so  long?"  she  asked. 

"And  so  short,  too.  I  don't  understand  it."  He 
looked  puzzled.  Ingenuous  frankness  was  in  his 
eyes.  "Do  you  believe  in  love  at  first  sight,  Miss 
Elsing?" 


UNEASY  STREET  103 

She  nodded  thoughtfully. 

"There  is,"  she  said  slowly,  "a  certain — shall  we 
call  it  crudity  ?  No ;  that  isn't  the  word.  Bluntness. 
That's  it.  A  certain  bluntness  that  is  not  without 
charm.  Perhaps  I  was  wrong  in  wishing  finesse 
from  you.  The  other  is  attractive.  Tell  me  some 
more,  Captain." 

He  grinned. 

"The  easiest  thing  in  the  world,  Miss  Elsing. 
Has  it  ever  seemed  to  you  that  two  souls,  like  elec- 
tric sparks,  leaping  across  a  void " 

She  nodded  with  emphasis. 

"Indeed,  yes-; — many  times!" 

"  'Many  times,'  eh?  'Many  times  T  I  don't  think 
that  I  shall  enjoy  your  party,  Miss  Elsing." 

"We  are  rather  stupid,  both  of  us,"  she  stated. 
"Suppose  that  you  go  more  deeply  into  the  history 
of  those  twenty-six  clam-like  years?  Before  the 
army — what  ?" 

He  shrugged  again. 

"Nothing  much.  Business."  His  air  was  the  per- 
fection of  slightly  bored  casualness. 

The  maid  entered  in  response  to  the  girl's  ring. 
She  served  a  clear  soup.  Her  ministrations  were 
a  sort  of  screen,  Baird  felt,  from  behind  which  the 
girl  studied  him.  Yet  her  voice,  while  not  bored, 
was  as  casual  as  his  own  as  she  asked,  when  the 
maid  had  gone: 

"Business?    What  sort,  Captain?" 

"Real  estate." 

"In  Donchester?" 

"W-e-1-1,  I  was  connected  with  a  Donchester  firm, 


104  UNEASY  STREET 

but  my — own  interests  were  in  the  suburbs.  Line- 
stream  property,  mostly." 

"Oh,  I  know  Linestream.  The  Gathers.  Did  you 
know  them?" 

"Eleanor?     And  her  brother?" 

"Surely!     Bob  Gather." 

"Went  to  school  with  him,"  he  told  her. 

"Rock's?"  She  seemed  quite  intimately  acquaint- 
ed with  the  Gathers. 

"No,"  he  told  her.  "Bob  left  the  high  school  in 
the  second  year.  I  stayed  on.  Father  didn't  be- 
lieve in  private  schools." 

She  nodded  understandingly. 

"So  many  people  don't.  Of  course,  in  New  York 
it's  different.  The  public  schools  here  are  quite — 
impossible.  But  Linestream.  Yes,  of  course; 
Eleanor  went  to  the  high  school  for  a  year,  too." 
She  drank  her  soup.  Most  emphatically  she  did 
not  lick  her  lips  with  her  tongue.  Yet  she  suggested 
a  kitten,  a  very  dainty  kitten  doing  that  very  thing. 
"See  much  of  Bob  of  late  years?"  she  asked. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Not  for  a  long  time." 

"Of  course  not !  He  came  rather  a  cropper." 
She  rang  again  for  the  maid.  "So  you  know  the 
Gathers,"  she  said  musingly. 

"Oh,  they've  probably  forgotten  all  about  me," 
he  told  her. 

He  knew  her  intention  as  plainly  as  though  she 
had  told  him.  She  would  write  Eleanor  Gather  and 
make  inquiries  about  Captain  Rodney  Baird.  Well, 
he  had  known  the  Gathers  at  high  school — had 


UNEASY  STREET  105 

known  them  as  one  student  must  necessarily  know 
his  classmates.  But  that  was  all.  Socially,  they 
moved  in  a  world  which  he  had  never,  until  within  the 
past  few  days,  even  glimpsed. 

But — Eleanor  Gather  would  know  nothing  about 
him.  Her  reply  to  Eileen  must  state  that  fact. 
Therefore,  Eleanor  Gather  would  be  unable  to  shat- 
ter the  fiction  of  wealth  which  he  had,  without  an 
absolute  falsehood,  just  now  builded.  That  he  was 
socially  unknown  would  not  matter  to  Eileen.  His 
acquaintance  with  Jimmy  Ladd  was  sufficient  Man- 
hattan voucher. 

"You've  definitely  quit  real  estate?"  asked  Eileen. 

"Forever  I  hope,"  he  laughed.  "Had  a  deal  pend- 
ing when  I  went  into  the  army.  Went  back  and 
closed  out  yesterday.  Going  in  with  Jimmy." 

"As  one  of  the  firm?"  She  was  frankly  curious. 
Baird  felt  a  curious  elation  at  her  interest.  He 
laughed  deprecatingly. 

"I  hardly  expect  anything  like  that"  just  now.  I 
haven't  the  Ladd  kind  of  money,  Miss  Elsing." 

She  pursed  her  lips. 

"I'm  inclined  to  believe  that  you  will  have — some 
day." 

"Thank  you.  I  think  so  myself.  I  want  it.  Does 
that  seem  barbarous?" 

"To  want  money?"  She  glanced  about  her  tiny 
dining-room.  "All  the  world  is  barbarous,  then.  I 
have  never  met  anyone,  Captain  Baird,  who  did  not 
place  money  above  everything  else." 

"So?     Then  you  haven't  been  meeting  the  right 


106  UNEASY  STREET 

sort  of  people,  Miss  Elsing.  Money  isn't  so  impor- 
tant as  that." 

"You  say  so,"  she  retorted.  There  was  the  sus- 
picion of  a  jeer  in  her  voice.  "Lots  of  people  say 
so,  but — I  wonder  if  they  could  stand  a  test." 

"Oh,  I  think  that  you  could,"  he  said. 

Her  shoulders  lifted  a  trifle. 

"You  must  say  that,  of  course,  if  you  are  to  keep 
up  the  pretense  of  electric  sparks  leaping  across  a 
void." 

"I'm  not  sure  that  it  is  a  pretense,  so  far  as  I  am 
concerned." 

She  laughed. 

"Nice  man!"  She  steered  the  subject  away  from 
herself  deftly.  "So  you  are  to  be  with  Jimmy.  Did 
you  know  that  his  father  has  taken  him  into  partner- 
ship?" 

"Great  news !"  he  said  heartily. 

"Rather!"  she  exclaimed.  "And  his  father  has 
sense.  Jimmy  is  not  the  sort  of  boy  to  be  treated 
as  a  child.  With  responsibility,  he  will  doyelop;  he 
will  be — Jimmy  will  be  a  great  financier." 

Something  of  calculation  was  in  her  eyes  now. 
Baird  remembered  his  breakfast  with  Jimmy,  two 
days  ago,  when  the  young  man  had  openly  admitted 
having  been  rejected  by  Eileen.  Jimmy  was  a  po- 
tential millionaire  when  he  had  proposed  to  the  girl ; 
to-day  he  was  actually  a  millionaire.  He  wondered 
if  the  thought  was  running  in  her  mind.  Suddenly 
he  was  conscious  of  a  resentment  toward  Jimmy. 
He  tried  to  put  it  from  him.  Jimmy  was  his  friend, 
his  benefactor. 


UNEASY  STREET  107 

"He  surely  will,"  he  agreed  enthusiastically. 

"He  is  very  fond  of  you,"  she  said  irrelevantly. 

He  smiled. 

"I  return  the  regard." 

"Of  course.     Everyone  loves  Jimmy." 

He  could  not  be  sure  of  it,  but  he  imagined  that 
her  breath  left  her  bosom  lingeringly,  as  though  she 
sighed.  Again  he  fought  against  that  resentment 
toward  Jimmy.  He  was  glad  that  the  entrance  of 
the  maid  interrupted  conversation  for  a  moment. 

There  was  no  fish.  Roast  beef  followed  the  soup, 
and  with  it  were  served  roasted  potatoes  and  string- 
beans.  It  was,  in  its  essentials,  a  homely  dinner,  and 
yet  Baird  felt  that  never  had  he  sat  down  before 
so  exquisite  a  meal.  Possibly  its  quality  lay  in  the 
serving,  but,  more  probably,  it  lay  in  his  hostess. 

He  could  not  be  sure  that  she  deliberately  steered 
the  conversation  away  from  Jimmy,  but  during  the 
rest  of  the  meal  they  talked  of  other  things.  He 
told  her  of  his  brief  experience  at  the  front,  an  ex- 
perience that  had  comprised  no  actual  fighting,  and 
she  commiserated  prettily  with  him  upon  his  ill  luck 
in  not  having  had  a  crack  at  the  boche  himself. 

Coffee  was  served  in  the  little  drawing-room,  and 
afterward  she  consented  to  sing  for  him.  Her  speak- 
ing voice  was  rich,  sensuous,  warm,  and  he  was  a  bit 
disappointed  when  she  sang.  He  had  no  particular 
ear  himself,  but  he  recognized  that,  while  her  voice 
was  well  trained,  it  held  no  particular  elements  of 
greatness.  However,  it  was  sweet  and  pleasing.  She 
whirled  around  on  the  piano-stool  as  she  finished  the 
Irish  love-song. 


108  UNEASY  STREET 

"Like  it?"  she  asked. 

"Immense — wonderful — great!"  he  told  her. 

"You  know  perfectly  well  it's  nothing  of  the  sort," 
she  laughed.  "It's  the  bane  of  my  life.  I  don't 
think  that  I'm  really  a  lady,  Captain  Baird."  He 
looked  his  surprise.  She  nodded.  "I  have  tricks 
that — now,  with  all  my  training — years  of  it — I 
should  sing  well.  But  I  don't.  Not  the  sort  of 
thing  that  well-bred  young  women  should  sing.  But 

another  kind  of  song Do  you  know  the  'Rock- 

ing-Chair  Blues'?"  He  shook  his  head.  "Listen  to 
me,"  she  said. 

It  was  the  sort  of  song  that  had  superseded  the 
old-fashioned  coon-song.  Filled  with  minors,  with 
quavers — it  was  "jazz."  And  she  sang  it  in  a  way 
that  set  Baird's  toes  to  tapping  on  the  rug.  It 
was  the  sort  of  song  that  musical  revues  and  "ad- 
vanced" vaudeville  singers  feature.  It  was  a  song 
that  depended  upon  that  thing  known  as  "person- 
ality." 

And  she  had  it!  Baird  knew  vaudeville,  and  he 
knew  musical  comedy.  Eileen  Elsing  would  never  do 
for  a  romantic  lead,  but  what  she  would  do  with  the 
right  sort  of  soubrette  part.  He  told  her  so.  She 
flushed  with  pleasure. 

"I  think  I'm  low,"  she  confided.  "I  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  doing  this  sort  of  thing,  but — if  I 
couldn't  be  a  real  singer,  I'd  rather  be  an  eccentric 
comedienne.  Want  to  hear  a  secret?" 

"Thrilled,"  he  assured  her. 

"Aronstein  offered  me  the  feature-part  in  the 
'The  Girl  You  Love.'" 


UNEASY  STREET  109 

"A  manager?" 

"The  musical-comedy  manager.  The  new  type 
of  thing — the  kind  that  features  a  singing  sou- 
brette." 

He  crushed  his  cigarette  upon  an  ash-tray. 

"But  you — I  don't  understand." 

"Simple  thing,  though ;  I  applied  for  a  place.  He 
asked  me  to  sing.  Gave  me  this  song.  I  sang  it. 
Asked  me  to  dance.  One  hundred  and  fifty  a  week, 
and — I  may  take  it." 

He  stared  at  her. 

"You  may  take  it?  But  I  thought "  He 

paused  abruptly. 

"Thought  what?"  she  asked. 

"Well — er — I  understood  that  you  and  Mr. 
Blackmar — that  you  were  to  marry  him." 

"What  made  you  think  so?" 

His  eye  rested  on  her  bosom. 

"That  pin,  for  one  thing." 

She  colored. 

"Silly  little  fib,  wasn't  it?  But  I  didn't— there's 
no  reason,  when  a  girl  isn't  really  engaged — even  if 
I  were,  must  I  tell  every  man  that  I  meet?" 

He  laughed. 

"Certainly  not.     But — this  theater  business." 

"Well,  it's  nice  to  know  that  I  could — add  to  my 
income.  Anybody'd  like  to  know  that,  wouldn't 
they?" 

"But  you  say  that  you  may  take  it?" 

She  laughed. 

"I  may  marry  you,  Captain  Baird.     I  may  go  to 


110  UNEASY  STREET 

Korea  to-morrow  morning.  So  many  things  that 
one  may  do!  I  shall  probably  do  none  of  them." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that!  The  first  suggestion — that 
you  may  marry  me;  let's  discuss  it." 

"It  might  be  interesting." 

"Shall  we  try?" 

She  was  frankly  flirtatious. 

"How  would  you  begin  ?  Not  with  electric  atoms, 
I  hope?" 

"I'll  try  to  think  of  another  opening,"  he  prom- 
ised. 

"Do,"  she  said.  "Think  quite  a  while.  Then, 
next  time  you  are  here " 

"I  am  coming  again?" 

"Well,  aren't  you?" 

"If  I  may." 

She  crossed  her  knee  and  leaned  back  against  the 
keys  of  the  piano. 

"Captain  Baird,  you  know  perfectly  well  that  you 
are  coming  again.  You  know  that  I'm  going  to  see 
a  great  deal  of  you." 

"You  mean  it?" 

Flirtatiousness  had  left  her  manner  now. 

"Certainly.  But  why  be  intense?  Haven't  you 
known  from  the  beginning  that  we  were  to  know 
each  other  well?" 

"I'd — hoped  so,"  he  stammered. 

"That's  the  difference  between  a  man  and  a 
woman.  He  hopes,  wonders,  guesses;  the  woman 
knows.  That  is,  she  knows  that  if  the  man  doesn't 
spoil  everything " 

"For  instance?" 


UNEASY  STREET  111 

"What  usually  spoils  the  friendship  of  a  man  and 
a  woman?" 

"Marriage?"  he  asked,  with  a  grin. 

"Now  you're  trying  to  be  clever,  and  you're 
merely  horrid.  The  man  wanting  marriage — that's 
what  does  it." 

"I  promise,"  he  said,  "not  to  want  to  marry  you 
any  more  than  I  can  help." 

"Fair  enough,"  she  said  gravely.  "If  you  didn't 
want  to  a  little — quite  a  little — I  should  lose  inter- 
est in  you." 

"I  shall  want  to — quite  a  little." 

"Nice  man!"  she  said.  A  tiny  clock  struck  ten. 
"It  is  time,  Captain  Baird,  that  I  sent  you  home." 

"So  early?" 

"I  shall  be  a  busy  girl  to-morrow.  In  three  min- 
utes, I  want  to  deliver  myself  into  the  hands  of  my 
maid.  Which  means  that  in  two  minutes  you  must 
be  gone." 

In  the  hall,  he  bowed  over  her  hand. 

"I  have  had  the  most — the  most  delightful  eve- 
ning of  my  life,"  he  told  her. 

"You're  too  good  to  be  true,  Captain  Baird.  Or, 
possibly,  you're  too  true  to  be  good — for  me." 

"And  just  what  does  that  mean?"  he  asked. 

"Ask  me  some  other  time.  Perhaps  I'll  answer," 
she  smiled. 

He  felt  her  warm  hand  in  his  own,  and  then — • 
he  was  in  the  hall  outside.  What  had  she  meant? 
That  there  was  a  chance  for  him  to  win  her?  He 
breathed  deeply.  Plenty  of  time  to  find  out.  She 


112  UNEASY  STREET 

wasn't  going  to  marry  Blackmar  right  away.  He 
could  be  sure  of  that. 

A  man  was  waiting  for  the  elevator  as  Baird 
emerged  from  it  on  the  ground  floor.  It  was  Black- 
mar.  Baird  started  to  speak;  then  something  re- 
sentful, something  fiercely  angry  bade  him  be  silent. 
Blackmar,  preoccupied,  did  not  notice  the  face  of 
the  man  who  passed  him.  Under  pretense  of  ad- 
justing his  scarf,  Baird  paused  before  a  mirror  in 
the  hall.  He  stood  there  long  enough  to  hear  Black- 
mar  say  curtly  to  the  elevator-man, 

"Miss  Elsing's  apartment." 

At  ten  o'clock  at  night!  And  she  had  told  him 
that  she  was  retiring  early.  What  a  fool,  what  a 
fool  he  was !  Across  Fifty-ninth  Street  to  the  Cir- 
cle and  thence  down  Broadway  he  walked,  taking  tre- 
mendous strides,  easing  the  wrath  within  him  by  the 
physical  exertion. 

But  before  he  had  reached  the  Tramby,  common 
sense  had  cooled  wrath.  Why  should  Miss  Elsing, 
having  an  engagement,  inform  him  of  the  fact?  And 
as  for  the  hour —  He  laughed.  This  was  New 
York,  where  night  is  made  day.  No  scandal  would 
attach  to  her  because  Blackmar  visited  her  at  10 
p.  M.  Of  course,  there  were  certain  social  laws,  but 
Eileen  Elsing,  he  shrewdly  suspected,  was  a  law  unto 
herself. 

Blackmar  was  almost  engaged  to  her.  Instead  of 
berating  the  girl  in  his  heart,  he  should  be  grateful 
to  her  for  her  kindly  tact.  Good  Lord,  he'd  only 
known  her  three  days !  What  did  he  expect  from 


UNEASY  STREET  113 

so  brief  an  acquaintance?     He  was  living  in  New 
York  now,  not  Donchester. 

His  pace  slackened.  His  lips  softened.  She  had 
kissed  him  when  he  fastened  the  pin  to  her  gown. 
His  mouth  hardened  again.  Why  should  she  accept 
jewelry  from  Blackmar?  That  pearl  necklace,  too. 
But  where  did  he  come  into  criticize  her?  Was  it 
any  of  his  business  ?  Jimmy  Ladd  knew  about  Black- 
mar  giving  her  presents.  If  Jimmy  could  stand  it, 
Baird  could.  He'd  have  to,  he  decided  philosoph- 
ically. 


THE  night  clerk's  wink  was  extremely  knowing. 
He  spoke  to  Baird  from  the  corner  of  his 
mouth,  Broadway's  approved  fashion  of  communi- 
cating information  that  is  quasi-confidential. 

"Little  lady  waiting  for  you,  Captain,"  he  said. 

Baird  looked  bewildered.  The  last  half-mile  of  his 
walk  home  had  been  given  over  to  visions,  great 
dreams  wherein  he  played  heroic  roles  on  the  stage  of 
finance,  and  in  which  Eileen  Elsing  had  the  part 
opposite  him.  From  his  mind  had  departed  all 
worry,  all  uncertainty.  Even  Blackmar's  late  visit 
no  longer  disturbed  him.  There  can  be  no  great  play 
in  which  there  is  no  conflict.  Blackmar  supplied  the 
opposition  essential  to  conflict. 

But  his  head,  which  had  been  in  the  clouds, 
dropped  until  it  stood  only  a  few  feet  higher  than 
the  desk  across  which  the  night  clerk  handed  him 
his  key.  "Little  lady,"  the  clerk  called  her.  Un- 
used to  Broadway  jargon  as  he  was,  Baird  never- 
theless was  subconsciously  aware  that  when  a  man 
refers  to  a  woman  as  a  "little  lady,"  he  means  that 
she  is,  possibly,  little,  but  emphatically  not  a  lady. 

His  views  as  to  what  constituted  gentility  on  the 
part  of  a  woman  had  undergone  radical  changes 
in  the  last  few  days.  His  Donchester  standards  had 

114 


UNEASY  STREET  115 

been  thrown  by  the  board.  He  was  not  prepared  to 
admit  that  those  old  standards  were  wrong,  but  he 
was  assuredly  not  prepared  to  admit  that  they  were 
the  only  right  ones.  Such  an  admission  would  be 
tantamount  to  clouding  Eileen  Elsing's  title  to  gen- 
tility. For  she  frankly  did  things  that  Donchester 
girls  wouldn't  do.  For  a  moment,  he  wildly  thought 
that,  for  some  incredible  but  delightful  reason,  it 
was  Eileen  who  waited  for  him.  But  the  clerk  dis- 
abused him  of  the  idea  before  it  had  really  been 
planted  in  his  mind. 

"A  peppy  brunette,  Captain.  The  real  jazz,  I'd 
say." 

"Where  is  the  lady  waiting?"  asked  Baird.  He 
emphasized  the  word  "lady"  slightly. 

The  clerk  lost  some  of  his  easiness.  He  pointed 
toward  a  reception-room.  Baird  wheeled  and  walked 
stiffly  across  the  lobby. 

There  was  only  one  person  in  the  reception-room 
when  he  entered.  Boldly  pretty,  dressed  rather 
loudly,  there  was  something  vaguely  familiar  about 
her.  She  looked  up  with  a  smile  as  Baird  ap- 
proached. 

"Don't  recognize  me,  do  you,  Mr.  Baird?"  The 
overhead  light  gleamed  upon  two  rows  of  very  white 
and  capable  teeth. 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Baird;  "but  I " 

"Oh,  perhaps  you  wouldn't.  Most  of  the  boys 
who  ate  at  Smithson's  would,  though."  She  tossed 
her  head  with  patent  coquetry. 

Smithson's!     Baird  knew  the  place  well.     It  was 


116  UNEASY  STREET 

a  lunch-room  where  Donchester's  busiest  men  gath- 
ered at  the  noon-hour. 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Baird;  "I  do  remember  you 
now." 

She  smiled  complacently. 

"I  thought  you  would  when  I  gave  you  a  hint. 
Great  old  place,  Smithson's!  I  used  to  have  a  lot 
of  fun  working  there.  Of  course" — and  she  shrugged 
— "I've  got  a  bit  above  that  now.  So've  you — 
haven't  you?" 

"Eh?"  Baird  was  confused.  "Why,  I  don't  know 
exactly " 

"Oh,  I  do,"  she  said  airily.  "Chumming  round 
with  Jimmy  Ladd  and  his  crowd  is  different  from 
eating  one  of  Smithson's  stews." 

She  leaned  back  in  the  gorgeously  upholstered 
chair  in  which  Baird  had  found  her.  From  her  man- 
ner, Baird  took  it  that  she  intended  to  stay  quite 
a  while.  Resentment  held  him;  there  was  certainly 
no  reason  why  a  waitress  who  had  served  him  in  a 
Donchester  lunch-room  should  think  the  relation 
justification  for  renewing  the  acquaintance  in  New 
York.  And  at  this  hour  and  place.  Yet,  somehow, 
he  felt  nervous.  He  hid  his  resentment. 

"You  are — working — in  New  York?"  he  ventured. 

She  crossed  her  knees  in  leisurely  manner.  Eileen 
Elsing  had  done  the  same  thing  an  hour  or  so  ago, 
and  modesty  had  not  been  affronted.  But  this  girl 
managed  to  reveal  the  larger  part  of  a  plump  calf. 
Her  shoes,  Baird  noted,  had  evidently  cost  a  large 
sum,  with  their  black  patent-leather  lowers  and 
white-buck  uppers. 


UNEASY  STREET  117 

She  leaned  forward,  throwing  open  her  coat — of 
some  imitation  fur,  Baird  decided.  An  evening 
gown,  of  pale  blue,  very  daring  in  cut,  gave  hint  of 
an  opulent  bosom. 

"  'Working?'  "  she  echoed.  "W-e-11,  yes.  I  came 
over  here  a  couple  of  months  ago,  Mr.  Baird.  Chorus. 
Show  flivvered.  A  girl  must  do  something.  The 
waiters'  strike  gave  me  my  chance  to  earn  a  dollar 
or  two.  That's  where  I  saw  you — at  the  Central. 

And  that  hundred  you  slipped  me "  She  lowered 

her  eyes  with  an  affectation  of  modesty.  Yet  the 
glance  that  she  shot  at  him  from  beneath  her  low- 
ered lids  was  shrewdly  appraising.  Baird  remem- 
bered her  now.  His  own  embarrassment  was  not 
feigned  as  he  looked  away. 

"Why,  yes,  of  course.  Glad  it  was  of  assistance,'* 
he  said. 

She  looked  up  now. 

"Oh,  it  was  all  of  that,"  she  said. 

There  was  something  mocking  in  her  voice,  some- 
thing that  set  Baird's  nerves  on  edge. 

"A  girl  needs  the  kale  to  get  started  in  this 
town,"  she  said.  "To  get  her  chance."  . 

"Yes?"    He  tried  to  be  politely  interested. 

"Uh-huh."  She  nodded.  "You  can  have  the  looks 
and  the  talent — everything,  but — well,  one  thing, 
you  need  clothes." 

"Yes?"  he  said  again. 

"That  show  that  flivvered.  I  was  getting  thirty 
a  week,  and  was  an  understudy  with  opportunity. 
Well — getting  another  job  in  the  middle  of  the 


118  UNEASY  STREET 

winter  isn't  easy.  That's  why  I  took  the  Central 
job." 

"So  you  said,"  he  remarked. 

"Yep.  But  the  job  won't  last.  No  good,  any- 
way. Now,  in  the  spring  I  guess  that  I  can  land 
in  some  new  production.  Only,  I  don't  want  to  wait 
until  spring  for  a  chorus  job.  I  want  something 
sure.  I  want  my  chance." 

He  eyed  her  speculatively.  He  thought  that  he 
understood  now,  and  he  could  have  sighed  with 
relief. 

"I  think  I  understand,"  he  told  her. 

For  a  moment,  their  eyes  met ;  then  sparks  flashed 
in  hers. 

"I'm  not  so  dead  sure  that  you  do,"  she  said 
tartly.  "Get  one  thing  into  your  head,  Mr.  Baird: 
I'm  not  that  kind.  I'm  not  asking  any  man  to  pay 
my  bills.  Not  on  the  usual  understanding." 

He  waved  his  hands  apart. 

"I  don't  think  that  I  do  understand,"  he  said. 

"I'll  explain,"  she  said  tartly.  "The  same  man- 
agement that  produced  this  flivver  that  I  was  in  is 
going  to  produce  another  show  this  spring.  I'm  to 
have  a  place  in  the  chorus.  I  don't  want  it.  I  want 
a  part.  I'm  good  enough  to  have  one,  too,  and  they 
know  it.  But — I  haven't  any  influence  at  all.  I 
know  that  I'll  make  good  in  time;  they'll  give  me 
my  chance  later  on,  but — I  don't  want  to  wait.  If 
I  had  a  few  thousand  to  put  into  the  show — do  you 
get  me?" 

"I'm  afraid  that  I  don't,"  he  answered. 


UNEASY  STREET  119 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do,"  she  retorted.  "I've  made  it 
pretty  plain,  I  think." 

Baird  laughed. 

"But,  my  dear  young  lady,  what  makes  you  think 
that,  even  if  I  wanted  to  help  you,  I  would  be  able 
to  do  so?" 

"Poverty-stricken  young  men  don't  hand  around 
hundred-dollar  tips." 

He  smiled. 

"It  was  New  Year's  eve." 

She  leaned  farther  forward. 

"And  lots  of  things  happen  on  New  Year's  eve, 
don't  they?" 

Back  with  a  rush  came  the  uneasiness,  the  sense 
of  panic,  almost,  that  had  been  with  him  when  first 
he  entered  the  reception-room. 

"I  don't  think  I  understand,"  he  said  stiffly.  His 
palms  were  moist,  and  he  felt  color  stealing  into  his 
cheeks. 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I  do,"  she  said.  "But — stop- 
ping at  the  Tramby — you  were  a  bookkeeper  for 
Robbins  &  Robbins  before  the  war.  And  army  pay 
don't  mount  up  very  rapidly." 

"Do  you  mind  telling  me  what  you  are  driving 
at?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know  myself — yet,"  she  said.  "But—- 
next week  I'll  know  a  whole  lot.  Frankie  Landers 
will  be  out  then." 

"'Out?'" 

"Of  jail — Blackwell's,  if  you  want  to  know.  Ten 
days  for  assault.  Mean  anything  in  your  young 
life?" 


120  UNEASY  STREET 

He  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  know  the  gentleman." 

Her  lips  pursed. 

"Maybe  you  don't.  That  doesn't  matter.  What 
does  matter  is:  do  you  want  Franklie  Landers  to 
know  you?" 

"You're  rather  cryptic,  aren't  you?"  he  asked. 

"Meaning  I  puzzle  you?    Do  I?" 

He  essayed  a  smile. 

"I  tell  you  that  you  do." 

"And  you  aren't  telling  all  that  you  know."  She 
stared  at  him.  "I  can  keep  my  mouth  shut  as  tight 
— if  I  get  mine." 

He  rose  abruptly. 

"My  dear  young  lady " 

"Holben  is  the  name.    Fannie  Holben." 

"My  dear  Miss  Holben,  then.  I  really  haven't  the 
faintest  idea  what  is  behind  all  this.  What  I  do  un- 
derstand is  that  you  wish  me  to  finance  you  so  that 
you  may  acquire  an  interest  in  a  musical  play.  But 
I  am  not  a  wealthy  patron  of  the  arts,  Miss  Holben. 
I'm  sorry,  but " 

"You're  no  patron  of  the  arts,  eh?"  she  said. 
"Very  well.  And  I'm  no  blackmailer.  But  you  can't 
tell,  in  this  man's  world,  what  anyone  is  going  to  be 
by  to-morrow,  Mr.  Baird." 

"And  what" — he  strove  to  keep  his  voice  level — 
"what  on  earth  would  anyone  blackmail  me  for?" 

"That's  what  I'm  not  sure  of,  Mr.  Baird.  If  I 

were  sure Well,  have  it  your  own  way.  It's  all 

right  with  me.  I  may  have  made  a  big  mistake. 
What's  the  number  of  your  room,  Mr.  Baird?" 


"I'M   NO   BLACKMAILER. 
MR.   BAIRD." 


UNEASY  STREET  121 

"My  room-number?"  Something  sharp  seemed  to 
pierce  his  heart.  No  pain  like  this  had  come  to  him 
on  that  morning  when  his  transport  had  been  at- 
tacked by  a  submarine.  He  told  her  the  number. 

"Would  it  help  you  any  in  getting  my  point  of 
view  if  I  told  you  that  Frankie  Landers  had  the 
next  room — on  New  Year's  eve?" 

That  his  face  was  glowing,  he  knew.  Yet  he  kept 
his  eyes  fixed  uppn  hers. 

"You  still  speak  in  riddles,  Miss  Holben.  If  you 
were  more  definite,  if  I  knew  what  you  meant,  I  might 
be  angry,  but " 

"But  you  aren't  ?  Well,  it's  kind  of  you.  I'll  say 
that  much,"  she  said.  She  rose  abruptly  to  her  feet 
and  shook  down  the  folds  of  her  gown.  "This  isn't 
an  easy  town  to  get  by  in,  Mr.  Baird.  Not  for  a 
girl.  Look  at  me — high  boots  with  an  evening  dress. 
Do  you  know,  lots  of  women  will  do  lots  of  things 
for  just  a  pair  of  the  right  kind  of  shoes?" 

"Men,  too,"  he  agreed. 

"Ye-ah.  Even  your  kind  of  man,  brought  up  cor- 
rect and  all  that  sort  of  thing — give  him  the  right 
bait,  and  he'll  bite."  He  merely  looked  at  her.  Her 
shoulders  lifted  in  an  exaggerated  shrug.  "Oh,  well, 
no  harm  done,  is  there,  Mr.  Baird?  If  I've  made  a 
mistake,  no  harsh  feelings,  eh?" 

"None  at  all,"  he  assured  her. 

"And  if  I  haven't  made  a  mistake,  why — I'll  be 
round  again,  Mr.  Baird.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  some 
more." 

"Thank  you.    I— er " 

"Oh,  yes ;  I  understand.    You've  seen  all  you  want 


122  UNEASY  STREET 

of  me,  but — maybe  I  haven't  seen  all  I  want  of  you, 
Mr.  Baird.  They  tell  me  that  it's  possible  to  visit 
people  on  BlackwelFs.  I'm  going  to  pay  Frankie 
Landers  a  visit." 

"Yes?" 

"Yes.  And  then  I'll  see  you  again.  Frankie's  a 
hard  ticket,  Mr.  Baird.  I  think  that  I'd  rather  do 
business  with  you." 

He  laughed;  it  was  a  fair  rendition  of  amused 
exasperation. 

"There  is  some  absurd  mistake  running  around  in 
your  head,  Miss  Holben,  and " 

"Oh,  well,  let  it  run  there.  Do  it  good.  Exer- 
cise the  old  bean.  Good-night,  Mr.  Baird." 

She  gave  him  her  hand;  her  fingers  touched  his 
a  moment.  Before  he  could  offer  to  escort  her  to 
the  door  and  find  her  a  taxi,  she  had  walked  away 
from  him.  Conscious  that  the  eyes  of  the  hotel 
clerk  were  upon  him,  Baird  walked  over  to  the  desk. 
The  snub  he  had  administered  to  the  man  a  while 
ago  was  still  ranking.  His  smile  was  supercilious. 

"I  think  I've  seen  your  friend  before,  Captain." 

"Yes?  An  old  acquaintance,"  said  Baird.  "I 
haven't  seen  her  for  years.  Almost  forgot  I  knew 
her." 

Nothing  was  to  be  gained  by  antagonizing  the 
man.  Moreover,  there  was  information  that  Baird 
wished  from  him.  He  looked  sly. 

"She's  rather  pretty,  you  know." 

"You  said  it,"  agreed  the  clerk.  "She  could 
know  me  any  old  time  at  all.  I  wouldn't  swear 


UNEASY  STREET  123 

to  it,  but — she  looks  like  a  chicken  I've  seen  around 
with  Frankie  Landers." 

"Landers?     Frankie  Landers?" 

Baird  fumbled  with  his  key.  He  pretended  to 
hide  a  yawn. 

"Yeh — you've  heard  of  him.  One  of  the  biggest 
gamblers  on  Broadway.  Used  to  run  a  house  in 
the  Forties.  Swell  place.  Quit  it  when  the  war 
broke  out.  Hasn't  any  place  now  that  I  know  of, 
though  they  say  that  he  runs  a  stud-poker  game 
once  in  a  while  that  helps  him  keep  the  wolf  away." 

"Live  here?"  Baird  asked  casually. 

The  clerk  shrugged. 

"As  much  here  as  anywhere.  Always  has  a  room 
here.  Next  to  yours,  it  is.  But  he's  quite  a  guy 
for  parties.  Hasn't  shown  up  since  New  Year's 
eve.  Nothing  unusual  in  that,  though.  He  takes 
his  room  by  the  year.  I  suppose  that  he's  easing  off 
in  some  country  town.  He  usually  does  that  when 
he's  been  on  a  big  party." 

"Maybe  he's  in  jail,"  ventured  Baird. 

The  clerk  guffawed. 

"Who?  Him?  Frankie  Landers?  Well,  if  he 
was,  the  papers  would  run  a  page  about  it.  Jailed? 
For  being  drunk?  Guess  again,  Captain.  There 
ain't  a  cop  on  Broadway  or  anywhere  else  in  this 
town  would  pinch  him.  And  if  there  was,  all  he'd 
have  to  do  is  tell  the  judge  his  name.  That's  all. 
No;  he's  resting  up  somewhere — maybe  in  a  cure. 
He's  done  it  before." 

"And  the  lady — you've  seen  her  with  him?"  asked 
Baird. 


124  UNEASY  STREET 

The  clerk  waved  an  airy  hand. 

"I'm  probably  wrong.  Just  an  idea,  that's  all. 
Anything  I  can  do  for  you,  Captain  ?" 

"Nothing,  thank  you.     Good-night." 

"Night,"  said  the  clerk.  He  turned  back  to  the 
magazine  that  he  had  been  reading,  while  Baird 
walked  to  the  elevator. 

His  lips  were  compressed  when  he  began  taking 
off  his  clothing.  A  weaker  man,  he  felt,  would  be- 
gin making  preparations  for  flight  at  once.  But  not 
he!  To-morrow,  he  had  already  decided,  he  would 
hunt  a  place  to  live.  Until  to-morrow,  his  luck  would 
not  change  too  abruptly.  And  if  it  did!  If  some 
one  claimed  this  money — but  he  had  already  thrashed 
that  out.  Let  that  some  one  prove  the  exact  amount 
that  had  been  in  the  trunk.  The  burden  of  proof 
that  Baird  had  taken  some  of  the  money  would  be 
upon  the  claimant. 

He  tried  to  think  of  Eileen  Elsing.  But  he  could 
not.  Fannie  Holben  had  taken  her  place  in  Baird's 
mind.  How  much  did  Fannie  Holben  know?  Cer- 
tainly not  much,  or  else  her  blackmail  would  have 
been  definite.  How  much  did  she  suspect? 


XI 


DERRIBY'S  is  not  unique.  New  York  has  other 
fashionable  restaurants  where  the  lights  are 
subdued,  the  waiters  noiseless,  the  orchestra  sooth- 
ing, the  food  excellent.  But  Derriby's  is  older  than 
most  of  the  others.  In  the  days  when  it  was  ven- 
turesome, fast  almost,  to  give  a  private  dance  out- 
side one's  own  home,  it  was  correct  to  have  the 
function  at  Derriby's.  One  who  would  have  hesi- 
tated to  engage  the  ballroom  of  a  hotel  had  no 
qualms  about  arranging  for  the  exclusive  use  for 
an  evening  of  one  of  Derriby's  upper  rooms.  One 
explained  it  at  first  by  saying  that  it  was  so  upset- 
ting to  the  domestic  arrangements  to  give  a  large 
party  at  home.  Explanations  soon  became  unneces- 
sary. It  was  not  needful  to  impress  upon  one's 
guests  the  fact  that  one  had  a  ballroom  in  one's  own 
mansion,  for  mansions  began  to  vanish  from  Fifth 
Avenue  with  the  approach  of  trade.  Many  of  the 
most  correct  persons  lived  in  apartment-houses.  The 
newer  hotels  got  tneir  share  of  the  private-entertain- 
ment trade,  but  Derriby's  stood  alone.  Derriby's 
was  another  home  to  the  established  of  New  York. 

But,  though  the  world  knew  of  Derriby's,  only  the 
initiate  were  aware  that  Derriby's,  in  addition  to  be- 

125 


126  UNEASY  STREET 

ing  a  famous  restaurant,  was  also  a  bachelor  apart- 
ment-house. 

It  was  the  merest  chance  that  brought  Baird  there. 
He  awoke  in  the  morning  thoroughly  refreshed.  The 
breath  of  danger  brought  him  no  panic  this  morning. 
To-night  he  would  make  arrangements  with  Jimmy 
Ladd  for  his  future;  those  arrangements  would  en- 
able him  to  replace  what  money  from  the  canvas 
trunk  that  he  might  use.  Let  Miss  Holben  or  the 
mysterious  Frankie  Landers  make  demands  upon 
him!  Those  demands  must  be  accompanied  by 
proofs,  and — he  would  not  worry.  Only,  he  must 
move  immediately. 

He  did  not  know  what  sort  of  place  he  wished  to 
live  in,  save  that  it  must  be  an  apartment.  Hotels 
were  not  private  enough.  So  he  glanced  through 
the  "For  Rent"  columns  of  the  morning  paper.  One 
advertisement  appealed  to  him. 


Bachelor  going  abroad  will  rent  two  furnished 
rooms  and  bath  to  responsible  tenant.  Exclusive  lo- 
cation. Suitable  reference.  Immediate  possession. 


It  was  the  "immediate  possession"  that  drew  him 
across  the  room  to  the  telephone  and  made  him 
ask  Central  for  the  telephone-number  signed  to 
the  advertisement. 

A  man  answered.  Baird  gave  his  name.  The  ad- 
vertiser gave  his  own — George  Climsby.  Mr.  Baird 
would  not  mind  giving  references?  "Mr.  James  Mc- 
Pherson  Ladd,  junior?"  Climsby 's  voice  became  im- 


UNEASY  STREET  127 

mediately  cordial.  Would  Mr.  Baird  care  to  come 
over  at  once? 

Baird  would.  Climsby  gave  him  the  address,  and 
Baird  taxied  over  immediately  after  breakfast.  And 
at  two  in  the  afternoon,  Climsby  was  registered  in 
some  hotel,  and  Baird's  trunk  was  deposited  in  the 
Climsby  apartment  on  the  fourth  floor  of  Derriby's. 

Baird  had  intended  to  pay  for  his  rooms  about 
eighty  dollars  a  month.  Yet  his  hand  did  not  shake 
as  he  signed  a  lease  which  obligated  him  to  pay  to 
the  attorneys  of  George  Climsby  two  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  a  month  for  six  months.  At  the  end 
of  that  time,  Climsby's  attorney — Climsby  himself 
was  shortly  going  to  South  America — would  sell  the 
furniture,  and  Derriby's  could  lease  the  apartment  to 
whom  they  chose. 

The  rent  that  he  was  to  pay  was  exactly  fifty 
dollars  a  month  more  than  his  salary  had  been  when 
Robbins  &  Robbins  employed  him.  It  was  sheer  in- 
sanity, and  yet — the  rooms  were  delightful.  The 
furnishings  were  exquisite  yet  thoroughly  masculine. 
Four  stories  below  the  front-room  windows,  Fifth 
Avenue  stretched.  Compunction,  fear  fell  from 
Baird  as  the  door  closed  upon  Climsby  and  he  was 
alone  in  his  new  home. 

Life  was  a  gamble.  One  who  refused  to  gamble 
won  no  high  stakes.  And  high  stakes  were  all  that 
made  life  worth  the  living.  This  address  of  his  would 
mean  money  in  the  bank,  he  told  himself.  People 
were  judged  by  the  obvious  things — their  clothing, 
their  manners,  their  homes.  It  was  unfair,  but— * 
strangers  had  no  time  in  which  to  inquire  into  the 


128  UNEASY  STREET 

inner  souls  of  other  strangers.  They  took  men  for 
what  they  seemed  to  be,  and  he,  Rodney  Baird,  would 
be  taken  for  an  extremely  prosperous  citizen.  Which 
meant  that  he  would  be  given  consideration,  oppor- 
tunity that  would  never  have  been  offered  to  a  Don- 
chester  bookkeeper. 

That  he  had  just  paid  an  advance  of  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  dollars,  that  his  valet-service  would 
cost  at  least  fifteen  dollars  a  week — not  to  have  en- 
gaged such  service  would  have  been  out  of  keeping 
with  the  part  that  he  intended  to  play — that  having 
his  breakfast  served  from  the  restaurant  below — 
Climsby  had  told  him  that  this  was  a  service  render- 
ing the  rooms  doubly  desirable — would  cost  him  a 
weekly  sum  beyond  what  he  had  ever  dreamed,  a  week 
ago,  of  paying.  Well,  it  did  not  matter.  To-night 
he  would  know  what  salary  he  might  expect  from  the 
Ladds,  and  in  the  meantime  he  would  not  fret.  A 
man  who  started  off  in  New  York  as  he  might  start  in 
Donchester  was  a  fool.  New  York  was  for  the  suc- 
cessful ;  the  successful  were  those  who  gave  evidences 
of  success.  New  York  would  be  for  him. 

Before  leaving  the  Tramby,  he  had  sent  a  boy  to  a 
stationer's  for  paper  and  twine.  Now,  his  door  se- 
curely locked,  he  opened  his  own  big  trunk.  From 
it  he  took  the  canvas  trunk.  He  opened  it  and  placed 
its  contents  within  his  own  heavy  trunk,  which  he 
closed.  This  merely  "in  case"  the  valet  de  cliambre 
might  unlock  the  door  without  knocking. 

The  canvas  trunk  was  not  too  stout.  Baird 
weighed  one  hundred  and  seventy-five  pounds,  and 
the  drive  that  he  could  impart  to  his  heels  was  power- 


UNEASY  STREET  129 

fill.  It  took  him  less  than  ten  minutes  to  reduce  the 
trunk  to  a  mass  of  splinters.  It  took  only  ten  min- 
utes more  to  make  a  bundle  of  the  splinters,  wrap 
them  in  the  heavy  paper  that  a  Tramby  bell-boy  had 
procured,  and  tie  the  paper  securely. 

Carefully  he  printed  upon  the  outside:  "John  J. 
Pelton,  Peoria,  Illinois."  He  eyed  the  bundle  com- 
placently. If  there  happened  to  be  a  John  J.  Pel- 
ton  in  Peoria,  he  would  be  rather  surprised  at  the 
contents  of  the  package  that  he  would  receive  in 
a  day  or  so.  Baird  permitted  himself  a  chuckle.  He 
picked  up  the  bundle  and  left  his  rooms. 

Twenty  minutes  later,  he  was  back  in  them  again* 
The  bundle  had  been  expressed  from  the  Grand 
Central.  He  had  given,  as  shipper,  another  fictitious 
name.  The  clerk  who  had  accepted  the  package  had 
been  a  near-sighted  old  man.  He  would  never  be 
able  to  recognize  Baird  in  the  improbable  case  that 
the  pieces  of  the  trunk  were  traced.  Rather  a  clever 
fancy,  that  of  smashing  it.  A  man  may  carry  a 
bundle,  but  carrying  a  trunk  arouses  comment  some- 
times. He  would  never  be  traced. 

In  a  stationer's  in  the  Grand  Central,  he  had 
bought  several  dozen  large  envelopes.  Into  these  he 
jammed  the  bills  that  he  had  taken  from  the  canvas 
trunk.  Fifteen  hundred  dollars  he  kept  out,  putting 
the  money  in  his  pocketbook.  Then  he  put  the  en- 
velopes in  his  suitcase,  which  he  carefully  locked. 

A  search  of  the  classified  telephone  directory  fur- 
nished him  the  names  of  a  dozen  storage  warehouses. 
He  selected  the  nearest,  on  Columbus  Avenue  in  the 


130  UNEASY  STREET 

Seventies.  Suitcase  in  hand,  he  walked  from  his 
rooms  to  the  elevator. 

A  uniformed  boy  carried  the  bag  to  a  taxi.  Baird 
smiled  as  he  tipped  the  youth.  Twenty-five  cents 
for  having  been  guardian  and  carrier  of  two  hundred 
thousand  dollars! 

He  held  the  taxi  while  he  entered  the  storage  ware- 
house. He  was  out  again  in  ten  minutes,  and  he 
breathed  easily.  His  suitcase  and  its  immensely  valu- 
able contents  were  safe.  He  scoffed  at  the  thought 
that  unpleasantly  protruded  itself  into  his  mind — • 
that  his  actions  might  be  run  down,  analyzed.  He 
shook  his  head.  Impossible ! 

Of  course,  he  told  himself  defiantly,  as  his  taxi 
took  him  toward  the  Avenue  again,  he  had  not  the 
slightest  intention  of  profiting  any  more  than  he 
had  already  done.  It  would  be  his  first  action  to 
replace  the  money  that  he  had  taken.  No  claimant 
had  called  for  the  money;  there  was  nothing  very 
wrong  in  using  some  of  it  temporarily. 

It  was  a  line  of  reasoning,  however,  that  he  did 
not  care  to  pursue.  Definitely  he  had  taken  a  step ; 
only  a  coward  would  regret  the  step  a  moment  after- 
ward. That  step  would  undoubtedly  lead  to  suc- 
cess. No  one  would  suffer  by  the  step.  Not  a  penny 
would  be  lost  to  the  owner  of  the  money  that  had  so 
strangely  found  its  way  into  his  room  at  the  Tramby. 
In  a  month  or  so  he  would  replace  most  of  what  he 
had  taken,  and — he  wouldn't  think  about  it. 

Almost  opposite  Derriby's  was  a  bank  that  kept 
open  until  early  evening.  He  had  his  taxi-man  de- 
posit him  here.  He  emerged  from  the  building  five 


UNEASY  STREET  131 

minutes  after  he  had  entered,  the  possessor  of  a 
check-book  and  a  bank-book  in  which  the  receiving 
teller  had  scribbled  the  figures,  "1500."  Mention  of 
Jimmy  Ladd's  name  and  the  fact  that  he  had  had  an 
account  in  a  Donchester  bank  were  sufficient  intro- 
duction. 

He  walked  across  the  street  and  through  the  por- 
tals of  Derriby's.  It  was  not  quite  the  tea-hour, 
but  the  musicians  were  tuning  up.  He  glanced  into 
the  main  dining-room.  The  polished  floor,  the  rich 
furnishings — he  must  dine  here  shortly. 

Retracing  his  steps,  he  crossed  the  main  hall  and 
entered  the  grill.  Not  to  quiet  his  nerves  now,  but, 
because  he  felt  like  it,  he  had  the  bartender  mix  him 
a  cocktail.  He  sipped  it  slowly.  He  was  pleasantly 
warmed  by  it,  felt  cheerfully  inclined  toward  all  the 
world  as  he  ascended  to  his  rooms. 

His  own  rooms !  He  wondered  idly  what  the  fur- 
nishings of  the  place  had  cost  Climsby.  It  was  quite 
possible  that,  when  the  six  months  had  expired,  he 
might  purchase  them.  Though,  probably,  he'd  want 
his  own  things  then.  Still,  a  chap  could  always  be 
learning.  That  oil-painting  on  the  wall  of  the  living- 
room  seemed  rather  good.  A  tyro  could  tell  that. 

He  examined  the  bathroom.  It  was  quite  large, 
big  enough  for  a  fellow  to  splash  around  without  wet- 
ting the  walls.  He'd  always  fancied  having  the  tub 
set  in  the  center  of  the  room. 

The  heavy  fixtures  of  the  hand-basin — silver-seem- 
ing— the  tiled  flooring —  He  wandered  again  into 
the  bedroom.  A  brass  bed  was  all  very  well,  but  this 


132  UNEASY  STREET 

narrow  mahogany  four-poster  was — well,  it  was  the 
real  thing. 

He  walked  into  the  living-room  and  sat  down  be- 
fore the  broad  window  that  looked  out  upon  the 
Avenue.  He  sat  there  a  long  time;  lights  began  to 
twinkle  from  windows,  on  automobiles.  At  last,  with 
a  sigh,  he  rose  from  his  chair. 

Some  one  knocked  upon  the  door.  He  opened  it. 
It  was  a  uniformed  employee. 

"Could  I  do  anything  for  you,  sir?  Shave,  sir? 
Lay  out  your  clothing  for  the  evening,  sir?" 

Well,  it  was  worth  fifteen  dollars  a  week  to  have 
even  the  part-time  of  so  perfect  a  servant  as  this. 

"You  might  unpack  my  trunk,"  said  Baird, 

"and "  He  thought  rapidly.  Jimmy  Ladd  was 

motherless;  there  would  be  no  ladies  present,  and 
the  dinner  jacket  fitted  better  than  the  other.  "My 
dinner  suit,"  he  told  the  man. 

"Yes,  sir."  The  valet  nodded.  He  handed  Baird 
the  evening  paper. 

The  valet — he  paused  in  the  midst  of  arranging 
Baird's  belongings  to  vouchsafe  the  information  that 
his  name  was  Grannan — started  the  water  running 
in  the  tub.  Baird  began  undressing. 

The  tub  had  a  shower.  Baird  was  beneath  it, 
disdaining  the  rubber  curtains,  when  the  telephone- 
bell  rang.  He  shut  off  the  water  to  listen  to  Grannan 
as  he  answered  it. 

"Beg  pardon,  ma'am?"  he  heard  Grannan  say. 
Then :  "Yes,  ma'am.  Of  course,  ma'am.  Circle,  two- 
two-four-seven-nine." 

"What  was  it  ?"  called  Baird,  as  Grannan  hung  up. 


UNEASY  STREET  133 

"A  lady,  sir.  I  told  her  you  couldn't  come  to  the 
'phone,  sir.  She  gave  me  the  number.  I've  written 
it  down,  sir.  She  wishes  you  to  call  her  up." 

Baird's  lips  tightened.  He  rubbed  himself  dry. 
But  he  did  not  go  to  the  telephone  until  Grannan 
had  finished  his  ministrations  and  left  the  room. 
Then  he  asked  Central  for  Circle,  two-two-four-seven- 
nine.  He  recognized  the  voice  of  Fannie  Holben  at 
once. 

"This  is  Mr.  Baird,"  he  said.     "You  called  me." 

The  girl  laughed. 

"You  didn't  make  a  very  successful  disappear- 
ance, Mr.  Baird." 

"I  left  my  telephone-number  with  the  clerk  at  the 
Tramby,"  he  retorted  stiffly. 

"Meaning  that  you  weren't  trying  to  lose  me?  All 
right."  She  was  quite  friendly  of  tone,  almost  cor- 
dial. "Just  thought  I'd  give  you  a  ring,  Mr.  Baird. 
Frankie  Landers  got  out  this  afternoon.  I'm  hav- 
ing dinner  with  him  to-night." 

"Yes  ?"    Baird's  voice  was  cold. 

"I  thought  you  might  be  interested." 

"I  can't  understand  why  I  should  be,"  he  told  her. 

"Well,  perhaps  not.  But  I  wanted  you  to  know 
that,  when  I  meet  an  old  friend,  I  don't  forget  him 
right  away." 

"That's  kind  of  you." 

"Oh,  I'm  full  of  these  kindly  traits.  You'd  like 
me  if  you  knew  me  better,  Mr.  Baird." 

"I'm  certain  of  that,"  he  said. 

"So'm  I.    Well,  I  just  wanted  to  keep  you  think- 


134  UNEASY  STREET 

ing  of  me — that's  all.  I've  got  a  week  in  which  to 
buy  into  that  show,  you  know." 

"Have  you  told  Mr.  Landers  that  ?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  Frankie  always  wants  to  know  exactly  what 
he's  buying  with  his  money,  Mr.  Baird.  I  shan't  talk 
to  Frankie  about  it — yet." 

There  was  a  sudden  menace  in  her  last  word,  em- 
phasized by  the  fact  that  the  receiver  clicked  imme- 
diately upon  it.  Baird's  face  was  white  as  he  put 
on  his  hat  and  coat. 

Still — what  did  she  know?  Nothing.  What  did 
she  suspect?  Nothing  tangible.  She  was  running  a 
bluff,  and  when  he  called,  she  had  nothing  to  show. 

He  looked  about  his  rooms.  He  could  live  in  Don- 
chester  and  work  for  Robbins  &  Robbins  for  twenty 
years  and  not  be  able  to  do  himself  as  well  as  this. 
One  got  nothing  in  this  world  without  fighting.  He'd 
fight. 

He  switched  out  the  lights  and  went  into  the  hall. 
A  ring  brought  a  silent  elevator  to  his  floor.  Swiftly 
he  was  deposited  in  the  hall  on  the  ground  floor. 
From  the  main  restaurant  came  the  sounds  of  the 
subdued  orchestra.  He  paused  a  moment  and 
glanced  in.  The  huge  reception-room  was  thronged 
with  well-groomed  men  and  marvelously  well-dressed 
women.  These  were  the  rich  who  were  used  to  being 
rich. 

Well,  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  become  ac- 
customed to  is  wealth,  as  the  hardest  is  to  poverty. 
It  wouldn't  take  him  long  to  become  used  to  it. 


XII 


JAMES  McPHERSOX  LADD,  senior,  looked 
what  he  was,  a  pillar  of  the  church,  a  subscriber 
to  charities,  and  the  head  of  a  huge  business.  He 
fulfilled  all  requirements  of  the  conventional  picture 
of  a  financier,  even  to  the  side-whiskers. 

Only  his  eyes  differed  from  the  generally  prevalent 
conception  of  the  great  financier.  For  the  eyes  of 
James  McPherson  Ladd,  senior,  betrayed  him.  They 
were  blue,  intensely  alive,  but  their  dominant  charac- 
teristic was  mild  good  humor.  They  seemed  to  find 
amusement  in  everything.  Baird  got  the  impression 
that  the  financier  was  secretly  rather  tickled  than 
otherwise  at  his  son's  industrious  sowing  of  wild 
oats. 

There  are  men  who  are  always  spectators,  who  sit 
on  the  bleachers  or  grand  stands  and  cheer  the  par- 
ticipants in  the  games  in  which  they  are  too  indiffer- 
ent to  take  a  personal  part.  Baird  conceived  old 
Ladd  as  one  of  these.  He  had  devoted  himself 
strictly  to  his  knitting.  He  had  been  a  faithful 
husband  and  a  generous  father. 

But  his  son  Jimmy  had  inherited  considerable  of 
the  proclivities  of  the  elder  Ladd's  grandfather,  who 
had  established  a  fur  trade  in  Canada  and  had  ven- 
tured in  teas  and  spices  from  the  Orient.  It  seemed 

135 


136  UNEASY  STREET 

to  Baird  that  old  Ladd  recognized  that  Jimmy's 
wildness  had  simply  been  the  urge  of  stirring  blood. 

A  dignified  butler  passed  round  cocktails  in  the 
library,  whither  Baird  had  been  conducted  on  his 
arrival. 

"Father,"  demanded  Jimmy,  "how  can  you  tempt 
me  ?  Knowing  that  I  have  sworn  the  great  vow ' 

The  blue  eyes  of  the  senior  Ladd  twinkled.  Baird 
read  the  tremendous  pride  in  the  son  in  those  mild 
eyes. 

"James,"  said  the  father,  "I  have  exacted  no 
pledges.  I  have  asked  nothing.  It  is  true" — and  he 
smiled  at  Baird — "that  I  am  venturing  an  occasional 
prayer  to  Fate  that  I  will  be  spared  the  agony  of 
reading  of  my  own  bankruptcy  in  the  papers  some 
morning,  but — no  pledges,  my  son.  There  is  only 
one  reason  for  the  making  of  a  pledge — the  oppor- 
tunity it  affords  for  breaking  it." 

"A  quaint  philosophy,  father.  A  sweet,  benign 
philosophy.  Almost  you  tempt  me ;  but — I'm  off  the 
stuff,  your  reverence."  Ladd  shook  his  head  at  the 
butler,  who  fought  desperately  to  iron  out  his  grin. 

The  elder  Ladd  eyed  his  glass. 

"Captain  Baird,  you  are  one  of  those  who  can — • 
er — take  it  or  leave  it  alone?" 

"He  sure  is!  So  am  I,"  laughed  Jimmy.  "The 
only  trouble  with  me  is  that  I  can't  do  both." 

The  old  gentleman  inclined  his  head  toward  Baird. 
He  drank  his  cocktail.  Baird  swallowed  his.  The 
elder  Ladd  moved  toward  the  electrically-operated 
elevator  in  which  Baird  had  ascended  to  the  library. 

It  was  an  ordinary  enough  scene,  but  Baird  was 


UNEASY  STREET  137 

conscious  of  a  sporting  element  in  old  man  Ladd. 
He  had  exacted,  he  said,  no  pledges  from  Jimmy. 
He  was  going  to  let  the  responsibility  of  a  partner- 
ship in  the  firm  sober  his  son.  Well,  he  went  at  it 
in  exactly  the  right  fashion.  If  Jimmy  had  the  stuff 
in  him,  he'd  make  good.  Keeping  liquor  out  of  his 
sight  would  help  not  at  all.  The  old  man  was  wise. 
Jimmy  was  not  a  child,  and  grown  men  must  make 
their  own  decisions. 

Dinner  was  served  in  a  room  whose  proportions 
made  Baird  think  of  a  baronial  hall.  Indeed,  the 
whole  house,  occupying,  as  it  did,  half  a  block  on 
Madison  Avenue,  reminded  him  of  a  feudal  castle. 
The  very  iron  fence  round  its  strip  of  lawn  seemed 
to  speak  of  numerous  retainers,  of  guarded  wealth. 

James  McPherson  Ladd,  senior,  was  not  merely  a 
millionaire — he  was  an  established  millionaire.  His 
fortune  was  too  firmly  founded  for  failure — despite 
his  jests — ever  to  threaten  it.  And  Rodney  Baird, 
lately  bookkeeper  for  Robbins  &  Robbins,  was  to 
become  a  part  of  the  machinery  that  turned  out 
granite  mansions,  liveried  servants.  He  was  quite 
unconscious  of  the  fact  that  the  oysters  were  succu- 
lent, that  the  soup  was  delicious. 

It  was  not  until  dessert  had  succeeded  a  salad  that 
the  elder  Ladd  turned  the  talk  to  personal  chan- 
nels. Up  to  now,  he  had  been  content  to  exchange 
pleasantries  with  Jimmy — pleasantries  that  con- 
cerned the  possibility  of  Jimmy  discharging  all  the 
stenographers  and  engaging  chorus-girls  in  their 
places,  and  such  matters.  Baird  gathered  the  im- 
pression again,  and  more  strongly,  that  the  elder 


138  UNEASY  STREET 

man  adored  his  son,  was  proud  of  him,  and,  perhaps, 
secretly  envied  him  his  laxities.  Yet  he  could  un- 
derstand that,  with  all  his  love  and  pride  in  his 
boy,  the  old  gentleman  could  fly  into  fury.  Mild 
eyes  can  become  angry. 

"Was  there  any  particular  branch  of  our  business 
that  appealed  to  you,  Captain  Baird?"  asked  the 
old  man. 

Baird  smiled  deprecatingly. 

"I  think,  Mr.  Ladd,  that  opportunity  is  all  that 
I've  hoped  for." 

"Pish,  tush,  and  again  tush,"  said  Jimmy.  "What 
we  want  is  a  confidential  man.  Not  an  ordinary 
private  secretary — we  can  get  scores  of  them.  The 
firm  needs  a  man  to  sort  of  look  things  over,  decide 
where  some  jazz  is  required,  get  an  angle  on  men, 
maybe  investigate  propositions  that  are  put  up  to 
us — not  from  the  technical  angle  but  from  the 
human." 

"It's  a  large  order,  Jimmy,"  said  Baird. 

"Why  is  it?  A  man  who  can  command  troops 
knows  something  of  human  nature.  Not  afraid  of 
the  job,  are  you,  Rod?" 

Baird  colored. 

"I'm  anxious  to  tackle  it,  but — I'm  not  as  confi- 
dent as  you  are,  Jimmy,  of  my  ability." 

"I  am,"  said  the  elder  Ladd  surprisingly. 

Baird  looked  gratefully  at  him.  The  old  man 
smiled. 

"This  son  of  mine,  Captain  Baird,  is  a  ne'er-do- 
well  young  blackguard — a  scoundrel,  sir."  His  mild 
eyes  shot  an  affectionate  gleam  at  Jimmy.  "But  one 


UNEASY  STREET  139 

thing,  in  all  his  wild  moments,  he  avoided  doing — 
he  never  let  himself  be  fooled  by  anyone.  He  always 
knew  exactly  where  everyone  stood,  and  exactly  what 
they  wanted.  He's  dropped  into  the  office,  taken  a 
look  round,  and  told  me  that  one  of  my  men  was  en- 
riching himself  illegitimately.  It  proved  true.  I 
don't  know  how  he  does  it,  but — he  does." 

Jimmy  rose  in  his  seat.  He  bowed  low  across  the 
table. 

"I  thank  you,  sir.  From  the  bottom — I  might 
even  say  the  dregs,  sir — of  my  heart,  I  thank  you." 

His  father  shook  his  head. 

"Laugh  it  off,  my  boy,  but  one  thing,  Jimmy, 
about  you — you're  honest.  And  the  critically  honest 
man  is  never  deceived  by  others." 

"  'Critically  honest?'  "  asked  Baird. 

"The  man,"  responded  the  elder  Ladd,  "who  dares 
to  look  at  himself.  The  man  who  questions  his  own 
motives.  Jimmy  is  that  sort,  though  he  may  not 
know  it.  One  of  the  reasons  that  I  always  forgive 
Jimmy,  no  matter  what  he  does,  is  because  he  has 
never  lied,  because,  indeed,  he  always  gives  himself 
the  worst  of  his  explanations.  There  are  many  se- 
crets of  success,  Captain  Baird,  but  the  chiefest  one 
is  honesty.  I  mean  a  success  that  is  spiritual  as 
well  as  material.  The  honest  man,  the  critically  hon- 
est man,  understands  the  weaknesses  of  others  be- 
cause he  does  not  camouflage  his  own.  Knowing  the 
weaknesses  of  others — and  his  own — he  discounts 
them;  he  reads  motives  before  they  have  come  into 
existence." 


140  UNEASY  STREET 

"And  I'm  all  of  that,  am  I?"  chuckled  Jimmy. 
"Rod,  I'm  some  bear-cat !" 

His  father  laughed. 

"Your  word  is  sufficient  voucher  for  Captain 
Baird,  at  any  rate." 

"And  I'll  make  you  hustle ;  I'll  make  you  earn  your 
salary,  Captain !"  cried  Jimmy.  A  thought  came 
to  him.  "Speaking  of  salary — a  couple  of  thousand 
a  month  to  begin?  All  right?" 

Baird's  heart  almost  stopped  beating.  But  his 
voice  was  casual  as  he  answered : 

"Perfectly — if  I  only  knew  my  duties." 

"We'll  find  plenty  for  you,"  laughed  Jimmy. 

Baird  centered  his  eyes  upon  his  coffee-cup.  Two 
thousand  dollars  a  month !  It  was — no ;  it  wasn't  a 
dream.  The  hot  coffee  scalded  his  tongue.  He  was 
awake. 

But  the  elder  Ladd  was  almost  asleep.  He  had 
reached  that  stage  of  life  when  food  superinduces 
slumber. 

"Don't  make  any  apologies,  father,"  grinned 
Jimmy.  "I  will  explain  to  Captain  Baird  that  you 
are  an  amateur  rumhound,  and  that  one  cocktail  puts 
you  under  the  table.  I  hate,"  he  said  to  Baird,  "to 
have  my  sire's  pitiful  weakness  exposed,  but  the  old 
boy,  Rod,  honest — the  old  boy  has  lost  his  kick." 

Mr.  Ladd  smiled. 

"Pay  no  attention  to  my  erring  son,  Captain. 
He's  a  disrespectful — disrespectful  young" — he 
paused,  thinking  hard  of  some  atrocious  insult — 
"galoot." 


UNEASY  STREET  141 

Jimmy  nodded  to  Baird.  The  two  of  them  walked 
quietly  from  the  room. 

"Funny  thing,"  said  Jimmy,  when  they  were  out- 
side, "about  dad.  Alive  as  a  cricket,  but" — he 
tapped  his  breast — "heart." 

"Serious?"  demanded  Baird. 

Jimmy  scowled. 

"Enough  to  make  me  get  off  the  rum  and  behave. 
Never  knew  a  thing  about  it  until  yesterday.  Doctor 
Crowninshield  gave  me  a  lecture  and  tipped  me  off." 

"He's  not  ill  now?"  demanded  Baird  anxiously. 

Ladd  shook  his  head. 

"Not  a  bit.  But  this  sleepiness — it's  one  of  the 
symptoms."  He  guided  Baird  toward  the  hall.  "Let 
us  grab  the  bonnets  and  the  capes  and  sally  forth." 

"Where  to?"  asked  Baird. 

Ladd  plucked  a  kiss  from  his  pursed  lips  and 
tossed  it  into  the  air. 

"To  Broadway,  man.  To-morrow  is  Sunday.  The 
next  day  is  Monday,  the  day  on  which  James  Mc- 
Pherson  Ladd,  junior,  the  apple  of  the  eye  of  James 
McPherson  Ladd,  senior,  sallies  forth  to  work. 
There'll  be  no  more  Broadway — not  for  a  long,  long 
time.  So  I  would  kiss  it  fondly  farewell  to-night." 

"Make  a  big  clean-up  of  your  affairs  in  Don- 
chester?"  asked  Jimmy  idly,  as  they  crossed  toward 
Fifth  Avenue. 

There  was  the  least  pause  before  Baird  answered. 

"Fair  enough,"  he  replied. 

Within  him,  Baird  felt  an  impulse  to  explain  to 
Ladd.  Accustomed  to  millions,  Jimmy  Ladd  had  the 


142  UNEASY  STREET 

millionaire's  habit  of  assuming  that  his  acquain- 
tances were  wealthy.  Surely  Ladd's  friendship  was 
too  sincere  to  be  founded  upon  a  belief  that  Baird 
was  rich.  It  would  not  lower  Ladd's  estimate  of  his 
friend  to  know  that  Baird  had  nothing.  But — busi- 
ness is  business.  Baird  was  offered  two  thousand 
a  month  because  Ladd  thought  that  he  was  well-to- 
do.  If  Ladd  knew  that  he  could  be  hired  for  a  frac- 
tion of  that  sum —  He  was  not  deceiving  Ladd. 
Ladd  was  deceiving  himself.  Silence  was  extremely 
golden,  it  seemed  to  Baird. 

Their  coats  checked  down-stairs,  Jimmy  paused  a 
moment  at  the  entrance  to  the  main  dining-room  of 
the  Maison  d'Or.  Because  it  was  Saturday  night, 
the  tables  were  almost  all  occupied,  and  the  dancing- 
floor  was  thronged. 

"Some  li'l  place,  eh,  Roddy  me  buck?"  said  Jimmy. 
"But  there  ought  to  be  some  one  here  to  take  J»ity 

on  us  and  offer  to  teach  us  to  one-step Who's 

your  friend?" 

A  couple  had  stopped  on  the  edge  of  the  dancing- 
space,  and  the  girl  was  waving  in  friendly  fashion 
to  Baird.  Even  as  he  stood,  staring  rather  blankly 
at  her,  the  couple  moved  toward  him.  He  was  able 
to  notice  that  Miss  Fannie  Holben  had  acquired  a 
pair  of  dancing-slippers  to  match  her  evening  gown. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Baird!  Such  a  pleasure!  Meet  my 
friend,  Mr.  Landers." 

Automatically,  Baird  thrust  out  his  hand;  Lan- 
ders gripped  it.  He  presented  Ladd.  The  latter 


UNEASY  STREET  143 

took  Miss  Holben's  hand.  He  drew  it  under  his 
own  arm. 

"Friends,  Romans,  and  countrymen,"  he  an- 
nounced, "I  feel  the  call  of  the  wild.  Mr.  Landers, 
you  look  like  a  kindly  soul.  You  would  not  interfere 
with  my  innocent  amusements,  would  you?" 

"If  you  wanna  dance,  kid,  go  to  it,"  said  Mr. 
Landers. 

Jimmy's  arm  went  round  the  girl;  they  seemed 
to  swoop  out  upon  the  floor.  They  were  lost  in 
the  closely  packed  throng  in  a  second. 

Reluctantly,  Baird  turned  toward  Landers.  He 
met  a  pair  of  hard  gray  eyes,  set  widely  enough  on 
either  side  of  a  predacious  nose.  High  cheek-bones, 
over  which  the  skin  seemed  drawn  tightly,  and  a 
thin-lipped  mouth  above  a  square  chin  added  to 
the  impression  of  hardness. 

Landers  was  dressed  to  the  point  of  foppishness. 
His  hair  was  slicked  straight  back  from  a  sloping 
forehead.  Emphatically  he  was  not  a  gentleman. 
With  equal  emphasis,  it  could  be  decided  that  he  was 
no  dance-hound,  no  lizard  of  the  hotel  lounges.  He 
was  a  man  of  action,  of  affairs,  even  though  those 
affairs  might  be  shady. 

His  lips  widened  as  he  met  Baird's  scrutiny. 

"Fannie's  been  tellin'  me  about  you,  Mr.  Baird. 
I  been  lookin'  forward  to  a  meetin'.  Didn't  hope  it 
would  be  so  soon  as  this.  Come  on  over  to  my  table, 
Mr.  Baird ;  I  wanna  chew  the  rag  with  you." 

"Why — er — we  only  dropped  in  for  a  minute,  Mr. 
Landers,"  Baird  protested. 


144  UNEASY  STREET 

"Oh,  maybe  I  can  interest  you  a  bit,  Mr.  Baird. 
Be  sociable." 

His  lips  still  smiled,  but  his  eyes  were  harder 
than  ever.  Baird  shrugged. 

"Just  as  you  say." 

"That's  nice,"  said  Landers.  He  wheeled  and 
led  the  way  to  a  table. 

"Drink?"  he  asked,  as  they  sat  down. 

Baird  shook  his  head. 

"Thank  you;  no." 

"Don't  mind  if  I  pour  myself  a  li'l  jolt,  eh?" 

From  the  bucket  beside  him  he  lifted  a  bottle  of 
champagne.  He  poured  himself  a  glass  and  drank 
it  with  apparent  relish. 

"Won't  be  able  to  get  this  much  longer  if  the 
prohibitionists  put  it  over,  Mr.  Baird.  Sure  you 
won't?  'S  all  right."  He  poured  himself  another 
glass.  "Fannie  and  you  quite  old  friends,  Mr. 
Baird?"  he  asked. 

Baird  smiled. 

"Well,  not  intimate,  Mr.  Landers." 

"That's  good!"  Landers  drained  his  glass.  He 
put  it  down  on  the  table.  "That's  fine!  I'd  hate 
to  meet  any  gentleman  that  was  intimate  with  Fan- 
nie or  wanted  to  be  intimate  with  her.  I'm  a  queer 
guy,  Mr.  Baird.  One  of  these  one-woman  men.  And 
what  I  can't  get,  I  won't  let  no  one  else  get.  Make 
myself  clear?" 

"Unnecessarily  so,"  replied  Baird. 

"Well,  that's  fine!  I'm  glad  to  hear  that.  I 
didn't  know  but  you  was  interested  in  Fannie.  She's 


UNEASY  STREET  145 

been  talkin'  a  lot  about  you  this  afternoon,  Mr. 
Baird." 

"Indeed?"    Baird  was  guardedly  polite. 

"Yeah ;  I  been  doin'  a  little  stretch  on  Blackwell's. 
Mistake,  but — oh,  well,  business  requires  certain 
things  sometimes.  I  got  the  ear  of  a  friend  this 
mornin',  and  this  afternoon — well,  I'm  here.  Fannie 
says  you  been  stoppin'  at  the  Tramby,  Mr.  Baird. 
That  you  had  the  next  room  to  mine." 

Baird's  feet  pressed  hard  upon  the  floor.  But 
he  lighted  a  cigarette  calmly. 

"I  believe  that  I  did,"  he  replied.  "I  moved  to- 
day, though." 

"Took  all  your  baggage,  eh?"  Landers  laughed 
as  though  he  had  said  something  humorous. 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Baird.  Faint  surprise  was  in 
his  voice. 

Landers  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  His  hard  eyes 
bored  into  Baird's. 

"Funny  about  baggage,"  said  Landers.  "You 
know,  I  missed  a  trunk  while  I  was  on  Blackwell's. 
Fannie  say  anything  to  you  about  it?" 

"Why — no,"  said  Baird.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
his  voice  sounded  far  away. 


XIII 

rilHE  orchestra  ceased  its  whimpering  minors. 
«••  Jimmy  Ladd  and  Fannie  Holben  stopped  close 
to  the  table.  The  girl  dropped  into  a  chair,  frankly 
blown.  Landers  looked  at  her  with  a  smile.  His 
face,  that  had  been  so  hard,  was  mirthfully  soft. 
He  grinned  at  Ladd. 

"You  shake  a  wicked  leg,  Mr.  Ladd.  There  ain't 
many  gents  can  dance  Fannie  tired." 

Miss  Holben  essayed  an  expression  of  shocked  in- 
dignation. 

"The  way  you  talk,  Frankie  Landers,  is  enough 
to You're  too  darned  fresh!" 

A  frown  of  concern  appeared  on  Landers'  fore- 
head. Its  skin  looked  like  roughened  concrete. 

"Excuse  me,  Fannie,  I Let's  have  a  li'l 

grape."  Apology  was  evidently  beyond  him.  He 
filled  her  glass.  She  drank  it  thirstily,  raising  her 
eyebrows  when  Ladd  and  Baird  refused  the  wine. 

"Some  dance !"  she  sighed,  putting  down  her  glass. 

"You  said  it!"  exclaimed  Ladd.     "Try  another?" 

The  music  had  started  up  again.  Miss  Holben 
looked  coquettishly  at  Baird.  He  rose  promptly  to 
his  feet.  With  a  great  sigh,  Ladd  sank  back  in  his 
chair. 

"He  cuts  me  out  with  all  the  girls,"  he  said. 
146 


UNEASY  STREET  147 

"Steals  them  so  quick!  Go  on,  Miss  Holben;  don't 
mind  me.  I'll  console  myself  with  a  bottle  of  ginger 
ale." 

"You're  consoled  easy,"  she  retorted. 

She  danced  extremely  well.  It  was  another  jazz, 
and  they  were  three-fourths  of  the  way  round  the 
dancing-space  before  the  girl  spoke.  Then  she 
nodded  over  her  shoulder. 

"He's  sure  a  bear  for  action — isn't  he?" 

Baird  followed  her  glance  to  meet  the  grinning 
face  of  Jimmy  Ladd.  Then  Jimmy  reversed,  and 
he  saw  his  partner.  It  was  Eileen.  She  smiled  at 
him  graciously  enough,  but  he  felt  hot  resentment. 
What  was  she  doing  here?  And  with  whom  had 
she  come?  And  why  did  she  have  to  see  him  dancing 
with  this  girl,  who The  girl  spoke  to  him. 

"How  you  been  getting  along  with  Frankie,  Mr. 
Baird?" 

Other  couples  had  intervened  between  himself  and 
Eileen.  He  looked  down  at  the  girl,  whose  face  was 
too  close  to  his  own  for  good  taste. 

"Well  enough,"  he  responded.  "I  notice  that  you 
have  a  new  pair  of  slippers." 

"Yeh,"  she  said  carelessly;  "I  had  to  let  Frankie 
play  banker — a  little." 

"He  seems  anxious  to  play  it  a  lot,"  he  observed. 

"Uh-huh.  If  I'll  say,  *I  do'  every  time  the  min- 
ister pauses." 

"You  might  do  a  great  deal  worse,"  he  told  her. 

"Sure !  But  I'm  going  to  do  a  great  deal  better, 
Mr.  Baird." 

"He  has  money,"  ventured  Baird,  "hasn't  he  ?" 


148  UNEASY  STREET 

She  shrugged  her  plump  shoulders. 

"A  lot  of  good  it'd  do  me.  Not  that  Franlde's 
stingy,  but — he's  an  old-fashioned  sort  of  guy. 
That's  all  right — laugh  if  you  want  to — but  I'm  tell- 
ing you.  Just  because  he's  a  'gam'  doesn't  mean 
anything.  That's  his  business.  But  take  him  away 
from  business,  and  Frankie's  the  home-and-fireside 
boy.  Why,  his  idea  of  heaven  is  a  place  where  the 
carpet  slippers  are  waterproofed,  so  you  can  wear 
them  in  the  rain." 

"Seems  to  me  that  he'd  make  a  steady  husband," 
said  Baird. 

"Well,  then,  I  wouldn't  make  a  steady  wife,"  she 
snapped.  "Think,  with  all  I  got  on  the  ball,  I'm 
going  to  pitch  for  him  and  no  one  else?  I've  got  a 
career  ahead  of  me.  That's  why  I  asked  you  for 
some  backing." 

Baird  avoided  the  opening — or  tried  to. 

"Landers  ought  to  be  able  to " 

"I'm  playing  the  game  as  square  as  I  can,"  she 
interrupted.  "Of  course  he'll  back  me — if  I'll  marry 
him.  And  then,  somehow  or  other,  he'll  yank  me 
off  the  stage." 

"But  if  you  love  him?" 

"Where  do  you  get  that  love-stuff?  The  only 
person  I  love  is  Fannie  Holben.  Frankie's  a  nice 
guy.  He's  as  square  as  most  men.  As  soon  as  he 
finds  out  that  a  wedding-ring  is  the  only  way  to 
get  a  girl,  he  either  lays  off  or  he  buys  the  ring. 
But  I  don't  want  to  wear  it." 

"Well,  you  don't  have  to,  fortunately,  eh?"  Baird 
tried  to  laugh  lightly. 


UNEASY  STREET  149 

"You  bet  I  don't!"  she  exclaimed.  "You  had  a 
nice  talk  with  Frankie?"  Her  eyes  were  very  near 
his  own. 

He  managed  to  shrug. 

"He  told  me  that  you'd  mentioned  me  to  him." 

"Didn't  say  what  I'd  said?" 

"Why — no.  He "  Avoidance  of  an  issue  did 

not  remove  it.  "He  seemed  interested  in  my  bag- 
gage, for  some  strange  reason  or  other." 

"Yes.  Frankie  thinks  quick.  But  I  didn't  say 
anything  to  him,  Mr.  Baird.  I'm  not  going  to — yet." 

"I  don't  understand  you." 

"You  must  have  a  copyright  on  that  sentence. 
You  said  it  often  enough  the  other  night,  Mr.  Baird. 
But  never  mind.  You'll  get  that  understanding  feel- 
ing by  and  by,  maybe.  Frankie  talked  about  bag- 
gage, did  he  ?  Mention  a  trunk  of  his  ?" 

"He  did,"  said  Baird. 

"Of  course  that  meant  nothing  in  your  young  life, 
did  it?"  she  asked. 

"Why  should  it?"  he  countered. 

"I'm  not  saying  that  it  should.  I'm  asking  if  it 
did." 

"Suppose,  Miss  Holben,  that  we  drop  a  subject 
that  I  don't  understand." 

She  laughed  good-humoredly. 

"Surest  thing.  Only,  get  this:  When  it  comes  to 
a  show-down,  I'm  out  for  Fannie  Holben,  every  min- 
ute of  the  day.  Understand?  But  I  forgot — you 
ain't  understanding  much  these  days.  Never  mind." 

They  walked,  with  the  cessation  of  the  music,  to 
the  table  where  Landers  sat  alone.  To  Baird's  re- 


150  UNEASY  STREET 

quest  that  they  dance  the  encore,  the  girl  smiled 
a  refusal.  She  patted  her  hair  in  explanation — it 
was  tumbling  down — and  left  the  table  to  make  re- 
pairs in  her  coiffure.  Landers  toyed  with  his  wine- 
glass. 

"Some  chicken!"  he  said. 

Baird  nodded  polite  agreement. 

"Ye-ah,"  said  Landers  emphatically ;  "workin*  her 
way  up.  Been  a  waitress  in  Donchester — that's 
where  she  knew  you,  wasn't  it,  Mr.  Baird?"  Baird 
nodded  again.  "She's  got  the  stage-bug  bad,"  went 
on  Landers.  "At  that,  I  think  she's  proba'ly  got 
something.  But  I  can't  see  it  for  her.  Not  for  her." 

"Have  something  better  in  mind?" 

"Well,  7  think  it's  better.    Marriage-stuff." 

"Indeed!"    Baird's  tone  was  congratulatory. 

Landers  waved  the  congratulation  aside. 

"Not  yet,"  he  said.  "The  fact  is,  Fannie  is  kinda 
up-stage.  I  don't  get  it.  She's  busted — flat.  Had 
to  take  a  stake  from  me.  First  time  she's  ever  done 
it,  too.  Yet  she  talks  mighty  big.  Swears  she's  goin' 
to  have  a  part  in  a  new  show.  Goin'  to  have  a  piece 
of  the  show,  too.  I  dunno  where  she's  goin'  to  get 
the  coin.  Do  you?" 

He  shot  the  question  at  Baird,  and,  despite  him- 
self, Baird  felt  that  ever-ready  flush  mounting  to  his 
face. 

"How  should  I  know?"  he  countered. 

"Well,  where  there's  money  for  a  girl,  there's  got 
to  be  a  man,"  said  Landers  sagely.  "I  thought  it 
might  be  you  who  was  goin'  to  stake  her." 

Baird  had  mastered  his  flush  now. 


UNEASY  STREET  151 

"I  hope  you  don't  think  so  any  longer,  Mr. 
Landers." 

Landers  waved  a  well-groomed  hand,  a  too  well- 
groomed  hand. 

"Oh,  mistakes  happen  all  the  time,  you  know.  I'm 
pretty  sure  you  won't  butt  into  my  little  affairs." 
He  poured  himself  another  glass  of  champagne. 
"Didn't  happen  to  have  any  queer  experience  at  the 
Tramby,  did  you,  Mr.  Baird?" 

"  'Queer  experience?'  "  Baird  echoed. 

"Uh-huh.  Didn't  miss  anything,  did  you,  when 
you  was  leavin'?" 

"Why,  no.    What  made  you  think " 

"Oh,  they  ain't  as  careful  who  they  hire  as  they 
ought  to  be.  I  missed  a  trunk,  like  I  was  tellin'  you." 

"You've  notified  the  hotel  people?" 

Lander's  eyebrows  lifted. 

"Why — er — no.  I  usually  settle  my  own  troubles 
myself,  Mr.  Baird." 

"But  theft— the  police " 

Landers  laughed  harshly. 

"I  never  trouble  the  police  about  my  affairs.  And 
they  don't  trouble  me.  Not  often,  that  is.  This 

Blackwell's  affair Oh,  well,  my  affairs  don't 

interest  you,  Mr.  Baird." 

Baird  laughed. 

"They're  rather  entertaining." 

"I  suppose  so,"  grunted  the  gambler.  "Ah,  with 
us  again,  Mr.  Ladd?" 

Jimmy  Ladd  sat  down. 

"Eileen  wants  to  see  you,  Rod,"  he  said.     "Trot 


152  UNEASY  STREET 

along,  111  take  good  care  of  Miss  Holben  while  you're 
gone." 

Landers  chuckled. 

"Some  nerve  you  got,  young  feller!  But  don't 
mind  me.  Tell  Fannie,  when  she  gets  back,  not  to 
think  I've  left  her.  I'm  goin'  out  for  a  little  while." 

"She'll  never  miss  you,  Mr.  Landers,"  grinned 
Jimmy. 

"You'll  say  so,  eh?" 

Landers  seemed  to  have  taken  an  instantaneous 
fancy  to  Jimmy  Ladd.  But  then,  Baird  mused,  as 
he  crossed  the  dance  floor,  everyone  liked  Jimmy 
Ladd. 

Eileen  was  at  a  table  in  a  box,  upon  a  sort  of  low 
balcony.  Beside  her  was  Blackmar,  dressed,  as  ever, 
to  the  minute.  He  excused  himself  almost  immedi- 
ately. He  saw  some  one,  he  explained,  to  whom  he 
wished  to  speak. 

"So,"  said  Eileen,  "you  go  on  parties,  dance  to 
jazz  music.  I  pictured  you  alone,  Captain  Baird, 
looking  forward  to  the  moment  when  you  would  see 
me." 

"I  had  no  such  picture  of  you,"  he  told  her. 

"You  shouldn't,"  she  said.  "Who  is  the  pretty 
girl  that  you  and  Jimmy  are  rushing  so  strongly?" 

"  'Rushing?'    I  hardly  know  her." 

"I'm  glad  of  that.  I  suppose  that,  if  you  were 
old  friends,  she'd  dance  even  closer.  She's  quite  won 
Jimmy's  heart.  He  raved  about  her." 

"To  see  how  you'd  take  it,"  suggested  Baird. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Jimmy  isn't  quite  as  transparent  as  that,  Cap- 


UNEASY  STREET  153 

tain.  In  fact,  he's  never  as  transparent  as  he  seems. 
Who  is  she?" 

"I  knew  her  in  Donchester,"  said  Baird.  "Shall 
we  dance?"  he  asked. 

"I'd  rather  not,"  she  rejoined.  "I  didn't  come 
here  to  dance." 

"No?    Merely  to  look  on?" 

"Mr.  Blackmar  had  an  appointment." 

"Here?" 

She  stared  at  him,  recognizing  the  surprise  in 
his  tone. 

"Surely.    Why  not  ?"  she  asked. 

"No  reason  at  all,  except — it's  a  queer  place  for 
business." 

"Is  any  place  a  queer  place  for  business?"  she 
retorted.  "It  seems  to  me,  from  what  I  hear,  that 
nine-tenths  of  business  is  transacted  away  from 
offices.  In  clubs,  restaurants " 

"What  husbands  tell  wives  !"    He  laughed. 

"No ;  I  think  it's  true.  Of  course,  woolens  aren't 
sold  in  clubs,  or  groceries;  still,  Jimmy  says  that 
Miss  Holben's  companion  is  the  famous  gambler, 
Frankie  Landers." 

"'Famous?'" 

"I  suppose  you'd  say,  'notorious.'  Well,  there 
isn't  much  difference — in  New  York.  A  famous  New 
Yorker  is  one  who  gets  his  picture  in  the  newspapers 
regularly.  And  Landers  surely  does  that.  What 
sort  of  man  is  he?  Bring  him  over  to  me,  will  you?" 

He  stared  at  her. 

"But  the  man  is " 

"Notorious,   yes.     That's  why  I  want  to  meet 


154  UNEASY  STREET 

him.      I'd  like  to  meet,  too,  a  girl  who  can  make 
Jimmy  rave.    Bring  her,  too,  won't  you?" 

He  colored. 

"Why,  of  course,  if  you  wish " 

"I  do  wish,"  she  told  him  calmly. 

"Very  well." 

He  rose  stiffly  and  left  the  little  box. 

"Go  away,"  said  Jimmy,  as  Baird  approached. 
"Can't  you  see  that  I'm  making  an  impression?" 

"Miss  Elsing  wants  to  know  if  you  won't  join 
her,"  said  Baird. 

"Surest  thing — won't  we,  Miss  Holben?"  agreed 
Ladd. 

"Delighted,  I'm  sure!"  said  the  girl. 

"She  wants  to  meet  Mr.  Landers,  too.  I'll  find 
him,"  said  Baird. 

"He's  around,"  said  Fannie. 

Helplessly,  Baird  watched  them  cross  the  dance- 
floor;  he  saw  Jimmy  wave  to  Eileen.  Who  would 
have  dreamed  that  the  tangled  threads  which  involved 
him  with  Fannie  Holben  should  have,  unraveling,  led 
to  Eileen  Elsing?  He  felt  his  soft  shirt-front  tighten 
as  he  breathed  heavily.  Somehow,  he  seemed  to  read 
into  Fannie  Holben's  delighted  acceptance  of  the  in- 
vitation a  threat  aimed  at  himself.  How  much  did 
she  know?  And  how  much  had  she  told  Landers? 

But  Landers  had  unconsciously  given  Baird  in- 
formation as  to  the  character  of  the  girl.  SJie  had 
told  Landers  nothing — yet.  Subtly  she  had  hinted, 
doubtless,  that  a  new  admirer  was  prepared  to  finance 


UNEASY  STREET  155 

her  theatrical  ambitions,  and — let  Landers  guess  that 
Baird  might  be  the  "angel.'* 

As  for  Landers  himself,  he  knew  nothing.  Yet 
he  had  missed  a  trunk,  or  so  he  claimed.  But  a  man 
who  had  lost  a  fortune  would  not  be  so  phlegmatic 
as  Landers.  Still,  the  man  was  a  notorious  gam- 
bler, one  who  had  won  and  lost  huge  sums,  probably 
without  a  change  of  expression.  He  went  in  search 
of  the  gambler. 

At  the  head  of  the  stairs  that  led  to  the  cloak- 
room and  street,  he  paused.  Landers  was  slowly 
climbing  upward  and,  leaning  toward  him,  talking 
earnestly,  was  Blackmar. 

This,  then,  was  the  "some  one"  whom  Blackmar 
had  gone  to  see.  Blackmar  had  spoken  quite  cas- 
ually. Yet  Eileen  had  inadvertently  let  drop  the  in- 
formation that  Blackmar  had  had  an  appointment 
here  to-night.  And  Eileen  had  evidently  not  known 
that  Landers  was  the  person  whom  Blackmar  was 
to  meet. 

He  reached  out  and  touched  the  banister.  Its  sup- 
port seemed  to  strengthen  him.  He  stood,  awaiting 
the  approach  of  the  two  men,  fighting  to  control  his 
nerves.  But  what  an  ass  he  was  !  What  if  Blackmar 
did  know  Landers  ?  What  did  that  mean  to  Rodney 
Baird  ?  Nothing  at  all. 

"Miss  Elsing  has  sent  me  in  search  of  Mr.  Lan- 
ders," he  announced,  as  the  couple  reached  the  head 
of  the  stairs. 

"Fine  stuff!  Glad  to  meet  any  friend  of  yours," 
said  Landers  heartily. 

Baird  glanced  at  Blackmar.    His  respect  for  that 


156  UNEASY  STREET 

gentleman  mounted.  For  there  was  not  the  slightest 
indication  that  Blackmar  objected  to  the  presenta- 
tion. Yet — he  must  object,  thought  Baird.  A  man 
does  not  wish  the  girl  whom  he  is  to  marry  to  meet 
notorious  characters.  Then  he  shrugged.  This  was 
New  York.  All  that  New  York  demanded,  appar- 
ently, was  that  one  be  interesting.  Character  seemed 
not  to  matter  at  all. 

"Why,  surely!"  said  Blackmar  heartily.  He 
looked  at  Baird.  "Landers  has  been  telling  me  of  a 
bit  of  ill  luck  he  had." 

Baird  stiffened. 

"Yes?" 

"Lost  a  trunk.    Valuable  contents.'* 

"He  mentioned  it  to  me,"  said  Baird  lightly. 

"Yes?  Stolen  from  the  Tramby.  Next  room  to 
yours,  he  says." 

"So  he  told  me,"  said  Baird  carelessly. 

"He's  pretty  worried  about  it,"  said  Blackmar. 

"He  takes  it  calmly  enough,"  said  Baird. 

"Oh,  that's  his  way."  Landers  was  ahead  of 
them,  threading  his  way  between  tables.  "But  he'd 
give  fifty  thousand  for  its  return." 

Baird  whistled. 

"That's  a  lot  of  money." 

He  looked  innocently  into  Blackmar's  eyes.  The 
look  that  he  received  in  return  was  polite;  that  was 
all.  Yet,  somehow,  although  the  room  was,  if  any- 
thing, overheated,  Baird  felt  the  least  bit  chill. 


XIV 

/CAPTAIN  BAIRD,  you  take  me  home." 
^^  Baird  glanced  at  Blackmar.  The  dapper 
man  was  listening  to  an  allegedly  funny  story  that 
Landers  was  telling.  If  he  heard  Eileen's  command, 
his  face  did  not  show  it.  Perhaps,  though,  he  did 
not  care.  Somehow,  Baird  resented  this  interpreta- 
tion of  Blackmar's  manner.  The  girl  rose  abruptly. 
Baird  also  rose.  Blackmar  leaped  to  his  feet. 

"Want  to  leave,  Eileen?"  he  asked. 

"Going  to,"  replied  the  girl  laconically.  "Captain 
Baird  is  taking  me,"  she  said. 

"These  young  guys  fresh  from  war  certainly  steal 
the  gals,  don't  they?"  remarked  Landers.  "Looka 
there!"  He  pointed  to  the  dance-floor.  "There's 
young  Ladd  steals  my  doll,  and  now  young  Baird  here 
grabs  yours." 

"Tired,  Eileen  ?"  Blackmar  asked,  his  brows  lifting 
slightly. 

"Rather,"  she  said. 

She  extended  her  hand  to  Landers,  who  bowed  over 
it  with  a  clumsy  grace.  She  nodded  coolly  to  Black- 
mar,  who  returned  the  nod  with  a  similar  sang-froid. 
The  two  men  bade  Baird  casual  good-evenings,  and 
he  followed  Eileen  to  the  door.  Neither  of  them 

157 


158  UNEASY  STREET 

spoke  until  after  Baird  had  redeemed  his  overcoat 
and  they  were  in  a  taxi. 

Eileen  leaned  back  in  the  seat.  She  seemed  to  re- 
lax utterly. 

"You  are  tired,"  said  Baird  sympathetically. 

"A  little,"  she  admitted.  "Been  enjoying  your- 
self?" 

"I  sat  with  you,"  he  replied. 

She  ignored  the  clumsy  compliment. 

"You  care  for  this  sort  of  thing?" 

"Well— it's  a  novelty,"  he  said.  "How  did  you 
like  Landers?" 

She  frowned. 

"I  wonder  why  Sam  didn't  tell  me  that  Landers 
was  the  person  whom  he  was  to  meet." 

"Perhaps  he  thought  you  might  object  to  meeting 
him,"  suggested  Baird. 

Eileen  laughed. 

"I've  met  far  more  disreputable  persons  than 
Landers.  And  Sam  Blackmar  has  introduced  them 
to  me.  I  wonder " 

"Yes?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  Jimmy  was  in  his  usual  excellent 
form  to-night,  wasn't  he?" 

"Why— er " 

"Extravagant  compliments,  devoted  court " 

There  was  a  trace  of  bitterness,  Baird  jealously  felt, 
in  her  tones.  "Some  day,"  she  went  on,  "we're  go- 
ing to  read  a  hint  in  City  Items."  She  named  a 
weekly  newspaper  devoted  to  the  doings  of  the  smart 
and  semismart.  "After  that,  we'll  read  more  than 


UNEASY  STREET 

a  hint  in  the  daily  papers,  and  after  that  a  breach- 
of-promise  suit." 

Baird  laughed. 

"Oh,  a  girl  like  Miss  Holben  won't  take  Jimmy 
seriously." 

"You  know  her  very  well?"  asked  Eileen. 

"The  merest  acquaintance,"  he  told  her. 

"Let  it  stop  there,"  she  advised  curtly.  She  felt 
his  unuttered  surprise.  "A  girl  like  that,  Captain 
Baird,  is  a  girl  for  simple-minded,  credulous  men, 
to  avoid." 

"I  wouldn't  say  that  Jimmy  was  credulous,"  he 
protested.  "He's  merely  good-natured,  filled  with  the 
joie  de  vivre.  Because  he  flirts  with  a  girl " 

"Oh,  well — Jimmy  will  take  care  of  himself,  I  sup- 
pose," Eileen  interrupted.  "But  he  is  running  a  tre- 
mendous risk." 

"You  seem  greatly  concerned  about  Jimmy,"  said 
Baird,  with  sudden  stiffness. 

"He  is  an  old  and  dear  friend,"  she  replied.  "And 
I  count  on  you,  Captain  Baird,  to  pull  him  out  of 
any  difficulty  he  gets  into." 

"Thanks,"  said  Baird  dryly.  "Some  chaperon 
I'll  make!" 

He  felt,  in  the  gloom  of  the  taxi,  her  eyes  upon 
him.  He  felt  that  they  were  speculative. 

"I  think  you  would,"  she  said. 

*'I  am  so — er — sedate,  staid " 

"Not  a  bit  of  it !  That  is,  not  painfully  so.  But 
you  have  common  sense." 

He  was  grateful  now  for  the  taxi's  gloom.    It  hid 


160  UNEASY  STREET 

his  expression  as  he  thought  of  the  suitcase  in  the 
storage  warehouse. 

"I  suppose,"  he  said,  "that  I  ought  to  thank  you 
for  them  kind  words,  lady,  but  I  don't.  Oddly 
enough,  Miss  Elsing,  it  was  not  as  a  grandpapa  that 
I  hoped  to  appeal  to  you.  Queer  ideas  men  get, 
eh?  I  sort  of  hoped  that  I'd  appeal  to  you  as  a 
man  of  twenty-six,  capable  of  an  affair  du  cceur 
himself,  instead  of  as  an  old  fogy,  fit  only  to  chap- 
eron his  friend  who " 

Her  laugh  interrupted  him.  It  was  a  merry  laugh, 

"Have  I  offended  the  poor  little  petulant  man? 
Well,  for  that  he  shall  be  rewarded.  He  shall  be 
permitted  to  come  and  visit  me  for  ten  minutes,  and 
I'll  promise  to  talk  of  nothing  but  himself." 

Her  mockery  was  soothing.  Baby-talk  had  al- 
ways annoyed  Baird,  but  this  was  different.  The 
girl  was  different.  His  hand  shook  as  he  paid  the 
taxi-man,  and  the  key  which  Eileen  handed  him  when 
the  elevator  deposited  them  before  her  door  rattled 
against  the  lock  as  he  inserted  it. 

She  left  him  standing  in  the  drawing-room  for  a 
moment,  and  he  heard  her  voice,  muffled  by  the  half- 
closed  door,  as  she  spoke  to  some  one  in  a  room  off 
the  dining-room.  He  thought  he  heard  the  sound  of 
a  kiss. 

"My  chaperon,"  she  explained,  as  she  reentered 
the  little  room.  She  was  smiling.  "At  least,  she  is 
supposed  to  be  my  chaperon,  but  I  think  that  I 
am  hers.  The  dearest,  most  whimsical  old  lady. 
She's  an  Early  Victorian,  Captain  Baird,  and  she 


UNEASY  STREET  161 

disapproves  of  me  most  thoroughly.  The  next  time 
you  come  to  dinner  you  shall  meet  her." 

"A  relative?"  he  asked. 

Her  mouth  puckered  in  distaste. 

"Indeed  not,  Captain  Baird!  I  am  abnormal,  I 
think.  I — not  all  my  relatives  have  been — kind.  I 
think  that  I  have  a  prejudice  against  the  breed.  No ; 
Mrs.  Kelton  is  the  aunt  of  an  old  school-friend. 
And  a  most  dictatorial  person  she  is,  too.  She  ob- 
jects to  your  presence  here.  It  is  shocking,  she 
just  informed  me." 

Baird's  head  felt  a  bit  dizzy.  Every  drop  of  blood 
in  him  strained  toward  her.  But  love — and  what  he 
felt  for  Eileen  Elsing  certainly  resembled  love — is 
different  from  the  lesser  affections.  If  we  entertain 
friendly  feelings  toward  another  person,  our  atti- 
tude toward  him  is  kindly.  But  if  we  love  a  person, 
we  must  hurt  him. 

"I  suppose  she  came  out  last  night,  when  Black- 
mar  called,"  he  said. 

He  would  have  surrendered  the  contents  of  the 
suitcase  in  storage  for  the  opportunity  to  withdraw 
the  remark  the  moment  it  had  passed  his  lips.  In 
his  heart  he  held  no  doubt  of  the  girl.  True,  her 
outlook  upon  life  was  not  the  outlook  that  he  had 
been  brought  up  to  consider  the  correct  and  right 
feminine  outlook,  but  even  though  Blackmar  bought 
her  jewelry  and  she  accepted  it,  he  had  no  doubt 
of  her.  He  knew  no  standards  whereby  to  judge 
her  kind  of  girl,  and  so  he  must  not  judge.  And 
now,  with  her  lips  slowly  curling,  he  felt  like  a 
shamed  puppy. 


162  UNEASY  STREET 

"I — I  beg  pardon,"  he  said.  "I  did  not  mean 
that." 

"Did  not  mean  what?"  she  asked. 

"Why— «r "    He  paused. 

"You  did  not  mean,"  she  said  icily,  "to  let  me 
know  that  you  had  spied  last  night." 

"  'Spied?'  I  accidentally  saw  Mr.  Blackmar  come 
in " 

"He  did  not  mention  having  seen  you,"  she  in- 
terrupted. 

"I  don't  believe  that  he  did.  I  beg  pardon,  Miss 
Elsing." 

"For  what?"  she  demanded. 

"Why — for "  Again  he  was  at  a  loss  for 

words. 

"For  having  thought,  I  suppose,  Captain  Baird, 
that  you  have  been  quite  magnanimous  in  your  feel- 
ing toward  me.  You  saw  Mr.  Blackmar  coming  here. 
But  you  would  think  no  wrong,  because  you  were 
too  generous  to  think  wrong.  Generous!"  If  lips 
so  lovely  could  frame  a  sneer,  then  it  was  a  sneer 
that  they  held  now.  Her  gray  eyes  were  cold,  and 
they  held  Baird's. 

"I'm  a  beast — a  low  beast,  Miss  Elsing,  but — 
you  aren't  quite  fair  to  me.  I — there's  no  particu- 
lar insult  in  a  man's  being  jealous,  is  there?" 

Hard,  distrusting,  her  eyes  still  held  his. 

"  'Jealous?'    What  right  have  you  to  be  jealous?" 

"None  at  all.  No  more  right  than  I  have  to  fall 
in  love,  Miss  Elsing;  but,  unfortunately,  we  can't 
decide  these  matters  for  ourselves.  The  thing  hap- 
pens— that's  all." 


UNEASY  STREET  163 

"You  seem  quite  serious,  Captain  Baird.  You  are 
telling  me  that  you  love  me?" 

He  tried  to  laugh,  and  failed  rather  miserably. 

"It  would  seem  so,  wouldn't  it?" 

"You  have  known  me,"  she  said  slowly,  "four 
days.  It  is  rapid,  Captain  Baird,  to  reach  the  stages 
of  distrust,  of  jealousy — remarkable."  And  then  her 
lips  wreathed  in  a  smile,  and  the  roguish,  provoca- 
tive look  came  back  to  her  eyes.  "I  don't  see,  Cap- 
tain Baird,  how  I  can  be  offended  with  a  man  whose 
offense  is  due  mostly  to  his  warmth  of  heart." 

He  stared  at  her.  A  moment  ago,  he  had  not 
known  whether  or  not  he  really  loved  her.  He  had 
known  that  his  heart  was  leaden  at  her  frown,  that 
he  almost  ached  at  her  contempt.  But  now — now  he 
knew.  And  she  had  been  playing  with  him !  Well — 
she  was  in  his  arms,  her  slim  body  crushed  against 
his  own,  his  lips  searching  feverishly  for  hers — and 
finding  them. 

A  full  minute  he  held  her.  And  then,  as  she  made 
no  return  to  his  kiss,  as  she  stood  quiescent  only, 
his  arms  loosened  about  her.  He  drew  back  his  head 
and  looked  at  her.  In  her  eyes  he  read  nothing  of 
love.  There  was  nothing  of  contempt,  either.  There 
was  merely  a  cool  finality. 

"You're  through,  Captain  Baird?"  The  matter- 
of-factness  of  the  question  made  him  drop  his  arms 
from  about  her  shoulders.  "I  think,"  she  said,  step- 
ping back  from  him,  "that  the  ten  minutes  I  prom- 
ised you  are  up.  To-night,  Captain  Baird,  it  will  be 
unnecessary  to  wait  down-stairs.  Mr.  Blackmar  is 


164  UNEASY  STREET 

not  coming.     Good-night."     Her  face  was  quite  ex- 
pressionless. 

"I  suppose,"  he  said,  "that  if  I  tell  you  that  I 
am  sorry " 

Then  he  turned  and  left  the  room. 

Westward,  to  Columbus  Circle,  he  walked,  am^ 
then  turned  into  the  park.  On  this  winter  night,  it 
should  be  lonely,  and  loneliness  was  what  he  needed. 
What  a  fool  he  had  been !  If  he  had  bided  his  time, 
played  a  waiting  game!  Because  a  girl  was  decent 
to  him,  had  condoned  his  pettiness  in  her  own  big- 
ness, he  had  assumed  that  she  loved  him.  Well,  she 
certainly  must  despise  him  now. 

He  came  out  of  the  park  at  Fifth  Avenue  and 
moved  south  toward  Derriby's.  As  he  walked,  he  re- 
viewed the  whole  evening. 

How  complacent  Blackmar  had  seemed!  Black- 
mar's  very  willingness  to  let  Eileen  go  home  with 
Baird  should  have  shown  him  that  the  millionaire's 
courtship  had  progressed  beyond  the  hot-and-cold 
stage.  He  was  assured  of  the  girl.  He  had  not  ob- 
jected to  Baird's  escorting  her  home,  because  he  knew 
that  Eileen  belonged  to  him.  Yet  he,  Rodney  Baird, 
had  thought  that  he  could  depose  Blackmar  from 
his  place  in  the  heart — or  mind — of  the  girl  in  four 
days!  He  had  assumed,  because  of  a  merry  glance, 
that  she  would  not  resent  his  embrace 

But  he  had  other  things  to  think  about  than  his 
own  feelings  for  a  girl,  or  the  feelings  of  the  girl 
toward  him.  Blackmar  had  said  that  Landers  would 
pay  fifty  thousand  for  the  return  of  a  trunk. 

Landers  had  talked  of  the  trunk  to  Baird.    Fan- 


UNEASY  STREET  165 

nie  Holben  had  hinted —  He  had  been  on  pins  and 
needles  when,  with  Blackmar,  he  had  rejoined  Eileen 
at  her  table.  Yet,  because  no  more  had  been  said 
by  Blackmar,  because  Landers  had  paid  no  more  at- 
tention to  him,  he  had  managed  to  dismiss  the  hints 
from  his  mind. 

What  sort  of  fool's  paradise  was  he  building  for 
himself?  With  exposure — jail,  even — apparently 
close  at  hand,  he  was  the  silly  sort  who  could  think 
only  of  a  girl's  eyes,  of  her  hair,  of  her  dimpled 
shoulders. 

Yet  to-night,  for  the  first  time,  open  danger  threat- 
ened. Fannie  Holben  had  been  a  markswoman  shoot- 
ing in  the  dark;  but  Blackmar —  What  were 
Blackmar's  relations  with  Landers  ?  And  why  didn't 
Landers —  It  might  be  very  true  that  Landers 
disdained  the  aid  of  the  police  ordinarily,  but  a  sum 
larger  than  two  hundred  thousand  dollars — 
There  was  an  extremely  black  person  in  the  wood- 
pile somewhere. 

He  put  Eileen  from  his  thoughts.  The  fact  that 
he  had  injured  himself  with  a  girl  was  not,  after 
all,  paramount  just  now.  And  yet,  when  he  entered 
his  apartment  at  Derriby's,  in  time  to  answer  the 
telephone,  he  was  thrilled,  forgot  all  about  the  Hol- 
ben girl,  about  Landers,  about  Blackmar  when  Eileen 
spoke  to  him. 

"Perhaps,"  she  said,  "I'm  a  bit  cruel  to  you, 
Captain  Baird.  Anyway,  I'm  asking  you  to  come 
to  tea  to-morrow  afternoon." 

He  stammered  something  in  response.  He  heard 
her  laugh ;  then  he  hung  up  the  receiver  and  turned 


166  UNEASY  STREET 

to  the  door  upon  which  a  knock  sounded,  his  heart 
throbbing,  his  eyes  moist  with  sudden  reaction.  A 
second  knock  sounded  on  the  door.  He  opened  it, 
and  almost  sighed  with  relief  as  he  met  the  grinning 
face  of  Jimmy  Ladd.  He  had  expected  Blackmar — 
or  Frankie  Landers. 


XV 


HELLO,  Jimmy !"     Baird  proffered  his  hand. 
"Why    should    I?"    demanded   Ladd,    looking 
down  at  the  outstretched  member.     His  grin  took 
the  tang  out  of  his  question. 

The  hand  dropped  to  Baird's  side.  He  stared, 
puzzled,  at  his  visitor  as  Jimmy  walked  to  an  easy 
chair  and  sat  down. 

"Roddy  me  buck,"  said  Ladd,  "I  wouldn't  be  curi- 
ous James  for  all  the  world  and  the  kaiser's  ear,  but 
— isn't  Derriby's  a  bachelor  establishment?" 

"Supposed  to  be,"  answered  Baird. 

"Ye-ah,  I  thought  so.  So  you're  running  two 
menages,  eh?" 

Baird  lighted  a  cigarette.  His  fingers  shook  a 
trifle. 

"  'Two  menages?'  How  did  you  get  this  way, 
Jimmy?" 

" Jealousy,"  declared  Jimmy.  "I  saw  that  snappy 
li'l  doll  a  couple  of  hours  too  late,  it  seems  to  me." 
He  accepted  a  cigarette  from  Baird's  case.  "Rod, 
when  you  birds  from  the  provinces  do  start,  you 
make  a  bred-in-the-bone  New  Yorker  look  as  speedy 
as  a  Percheron." 

Baird  sat  down. 

"I  suppose  that  I  must  thank  you  for  the  compli- 
167 


168  UNEASY  STREET 

ment,  Jimmy,  but  I  swear  I  don't  know  what  it's 
all  about." 

Jimmy  laughed. 

"He  doesn't  know  what  it's  all  about,  bless  his 
unsophisticated  young  heart !  He's  backing  a  peppy 
little  girl  in  her  new  show,  but  he  doesn't  know  why. 
Roddy,  I'm  a  shrewd  investor,  I  am.  I'll  take  that 
show  off  your  hands  at  a  profit." 

"I'm  not  backing  anyone  in  a  show,  Jimmy,"  said 
Baird. 

"Galahad  stuff!  I  get  you,  Rod.  Yet,  says  I, 
unwilling  to  hurl  the  lie  into  the  teeth  of  my  pal, 
the  lady  says  you  are." 

"The  lady  is  mistaken,"  responded  Baird. 

Ladd  sat  bolt  upright. 

"So  I  guessed,  Rod.  But  I  wanted  to  hear  you 
say  so."  He  eyed  his  friend  speculatively.  "You 
know,  old  fellow,  I've  rather  gathered  that  Eileen 
has — well — Eileen  is  the  world's  best.  It  wouldn't  be 
playing  it  on  the  level  with  Eileen — and,  none  of 
my  business,  of  course,  and  I  offer  a  million  apolo- 
gies for  the  butting-in,  but  whoever  gets  Eileen  is 
going  to  go  to  her  clean." 

"Galahad  stuff!"  commented  Baird. 

"Uh-huh,"  Ladd  nodded.  "I  feel  that  way  about 
Eileen.  I'm  a  fool,  and  I  know  it.  I  mean  as 
much  to  her  as  yesterday's  menu-card  at  a  table 
d'hote,  but " 

"All  of  which  is  highly  creditable,  Jimmy,  but — 
I  thought  that  Blackmar  was " 

"Maybe  he  is.  It  looks  that  way.  It  did  look 
that  way.  But  a  man  never  can  tell." 


UNEASY  STREET  169 

"I  suppose,"  said  Baird  dryly,  "that  Blackmar 
brings  you  his  report  from  Sunday-school  every 
Monday  morning,  and " 

Jimmy's  eyes  narrowed. 

"Go  ahead — kid  me.  It's  all  right,  Roddy  me 
buck.  Blackmar's  no  scented  saint,  and  I'm  the  lit- 
tle boy  that  knows  it.  But  since  he's  been  chumming 
with  Eileen,  I  happen  to  know  that  he's  playing  it 
extremely  straight.  I'm  not  a  fool,  Rod.  When  I 
said  that  a  man  would  have  to  go  to  Eileen  clean, 
I  didn't  mean — oh,  you  know  what  I  mean.  Any- 
way, I  came  to  warn,  not  criticize.  Keep  away  from 
your  charming  little  siren,  Miss  Holben.  She's 
strong  medicine  for  little  boys  from  the  provinces. 
Glad  you  aren't  involved  there." 

"Just  what  did  she  say?"  asked  Baird.  He  hidi 
the  nervousness  that  still  possessed  him  under  the 
cover  of  searching  for  a  match. 

"Here."  Ladd  offered  his  match-box.  "Well,  to 
be  just  to  the  lady,  she  did  not  say  anything  definite. 
But  I  left  her  with  the  quite  clear  understanding 
that  you  were  backing  a  show  in  which  she  was  to 
play  a  leading  part.  And  so — she's  friendly  with 
Landers,  of  course.  Don't  happen  to  know  anything 
about  him,  do  you?" 

"Except  that  he's  a  notorious  gambler,"  said 
Baird. 

"Huh!  He's  a  whole  lot  more  than  that.  He's 
been  mixed  up  in  a  lot  of  political  deals  that,  if 
the  inside  were  known,  would  probably  land  him  in 
a  health  resort  up  the  Hudson.  I'm  surprised  that 
Sam  Blackmar  meets  him  openly." 


170  UNEASY  STREET 

"Is  Blackmar  in  politics  ?"  asked  Baird. 

"W-e-11,  I'd  hardly  say  that.  But  Sam  has — well, 
I've  heard  talk  about  certain  traction  deals.  But 
you  hear  a  lot  in  this  town.  As  far  as  I  know,  Black- 
mar  is  as  honest  as  anyone  else.  Anyway,  one  thing 
is  certain ;  they'll  never  catch  him.  Sam  knows  the 
law — and  respects  it."  He  yawned  frankly.  "A 
rumless  evening  passes  slowly,  doesn't  it,  old  top? 
I'm  going  to  bed.  Some  diggings  you  have  here." 

"I  like  them,"  said  Baird. 

"And  I'm  glad  that  you  haven't  another  little 
home.  Oh,  well,  girls  will  be  girls,  I  suppose,  and  it's 
quite  fashionable  to  have  a  backer  these  days.  But 
why  should  she  pick  on  you?" 

"Heaven  knows !  It  would  seem  more  natural  to 
claim  Landers  as  her  angel,"  said  Baird. 

"Sure  would!  Only — well,  by-by.  Drop  around 
to-morrow  afternoon?" 

"Engagement.    Sorry." 

"Eileen  ?  Not  that  it's  any  of  my  darned  business, 
but  you  know  me." 

"You  guessed  it,"  admitted  Baird. 

Ladd  frowned. 

"Hm.  Well,  the  race  is  often  to  the  swift,  even  if 
not  always.  But  Sam's  got  a  whale  of  a  bank-roll." 

"Maybe  Miss  Elsing  isn't  as  fond  of  money  as 
you  assume,  Jimmy." 

There  was  the  hint  of  rebuke  in  Baird's  voice,  and 
Ladd  got  it. 

"Don't  fool  yourself,  Rod!  Eileen  is  the  best  in 
the  world,  but — she's  out  for  money." 


UNEASY  STREET  171 

"Well,  with  your  partnership  in  your  father's 
firm " 

Ladd  shrugged. 

"She's  going  to  love  the  man  she  marries,  just  the 
same.  At  least,  she's  going  to  respect  him  a  whole 
lot,  and — Eileen  doesn't  respect  me." 

"Why  not?"  Baird's  surprise  was  patent. 

"Eileen  has  seen  me  at  my  Jamiest  worst,  Roil. 
Let's  forget  it.  The  best  of  luck,  and — keep  away 
from  the  Holben  girl." 

For  fully  two  hours  after  Ladd  had  gone,  Baird 
sat  in  his  arm-chair,  smoking  cigarette  after  ciga- 
rette. Jimmy  Ladd  had  always  been  an  extremely 
frank  young  person,  but  to-night  Baird  was  quite 
certain  that  he  had  been  purposely  ambiguous.  How 
much  had  Fannie  Holben  told  him? 

His  last  words  had  been  a  warning  to  keep  away 
from  Fannie.  That  warning  was  certainly  open  to 
two  meanings:  the  first,  that  intimacy  with  the  girl 
was  not  fair  to  Eileen  and  would  be  resented  by 
Jimmy;  the  second,  that  the  girl  was  dangerous. 

His  mind  reverted  suddenly  again  to  Eileen. 
After  all,  he  had  not  irrevocably  offended.  Having 
been  forgiven — and  an  invitation  to  tea  to-morrow 
was  tantamount  to  pardon — he  was  entitled  to  as- 
sume that  there  might  be  some  basis  for  Jimmy 
Ladd's  hopeful  view  of  his  relations  toward  Eileen. 

And  he  did  love  her !  She  was —  How  much  did 
a  kiss  mean  to  her,  anyway?  How  many  kisses  had 
Blackmar  received  in  payment  for  his  gifts  to  her? 
Was  her  chaperon —  He  rose  and  shook  himself, 


172  UNEASY  STREET 

as  though  to  rid  himself  of  the  evil  thoughts  that 
crowded  his  brain.  What  a  pup  he  was !  In  one 
breath,  he  told  himself  that  he  adored  the  girl,  con- 
ceived himself  as  being  married  to  her,  and,  in  the 
next,  he  cast  doubts  upon  her  that  he  would  not 
have  felt  toward  Fannie  Holben. 

And  he  was  a  fine  person  to  set  up  standards  for 
others,  he  who  had —  He  hesitated.  He  would  not, 
even  in  his  thoughts,  use  the  word  "steal."  He 
preferred  the  euphemism  "borrow,"  even  though  he 
knew  it  to  be  a  euphemism.  But  he  intended  repay- 
ment. The  salary  that  he  was  to  receive  from  Ladd 
&  Company —  He  thought  of  Landers,  of  Black- 
mar.  The  first  was  a  notorious  gambler ;  that  meant 
that  he  was  dishonest.  There  are  no  successful 
honest  gamblers.  The  other — well,  Jimmy  Ladd 
had  intimated  certain  things  to-night.  He  had  said 
that  Blackmar  would  never  be  caught. 

Were  either  of  these  men — and  both,  he  was  con- 
vinced, were  involved  in  some  way  in  the  contents  of 
the  suitcase  in  storage — were  either  of  them  any 
more  honest  than  himself?  What  was  honesty,  any- 
way? Wras  it  capable  of  rigid  definition?  It  cer- 
tainly was  not.  If  a  man  owned  the  only  spring  of 
water  on  Manhattan  Island,  would  his  ownership 
prevent  the  other  inhabitants  from  drinking  his 
water?  Certainly  not.  Honesty,  then,  meant  re- 
specting another's  right  of  ownership  provided  that 
right  worked  no  injury  to  oneself.  It  also  meant  to 
respect  another's  right  of  ownership  if  breach  of 
that  right  worked  injury  to  the  owner.  Stealing 


UNEASY  STREET  173 

the  water  from  the  spring  would  certainly  not  in- 
jure the  owner. 

Well  then,  using  the  money  that  he  had  found  in 
his  room  at  the  Tramby  worked  injury  to  no  one. 
Its  owner  did  not  advertise ;  he  made  no  claim.  When 
he  did  prove  his  ownership,  he'd  get  his  money  back, 
all  right.  Baird's  salary  would  amply  cover  any- 
thing that  he'd  taken.  And  if  it  didn't  cover  all 
that  he'd  used —  Fifty  thousand,  Blackmar  had 
stated,  would  be  paid  by  Landers  for  return  of  the 
money.  A  man  could  do'  a  lot  with  fifty  thousand. 
It  was  quite  evident  that  there'd  be  no  public  scan- 
dal. For  some  reason  or  other,  Landers  wished  no 
publicity. 

But  surrender  just  now  meant  exposure  to  Eileen 
Elsing.  Blackmar  would  tell  her.  Jimmy  Ladd 
would  know.  The  edifice  of  prosperity,  of  place, 
that  he  had  erected  would  tumble  down.  He'd  lose 
"Eileen  Elsing! 

The  fact  that  Eileen  Elsing  was  not  yet  his  did 
not  enter  into  his  mind.  She  had  invited  him  to 
tea  to-morrow.  She'd  forgiven  his  offense  against 
her  to-night.  Girls  do  not  forgive  violent  kisses 
unless — •  Blackmar  was  a  middle-aged  fop !  He'd 
give  any  middle-aged  fop  such  a  run  for  his  money. 
Oh,  no ;  it  was  completely  out  of  the  question  even 
to  think  of  surrendering  yet. 

Every  youth  in  America  with  intelligence  visual- 
ized his  future  in  one  word:  money.  With  money, 
one  had  opportunity  to  meet  the  most  desirable 
women.  Suppose  that  he'd  not  permitted  the  illu- 


174  UNEASY  STREET 

sion  as  to  his  own  means  to  gain  ground  in  the  mind 
of  Jimmy  Ladd?  Would  Jimmy  have  invited  him 
to  his  New  Year's  party?  Well,  possibly.  But 
would  he  have  been  able  to  continue  the  acquaintance 
begun  there  with  Eileen  Elsing?  Certainly  not. 
And  Eileen  Elsing  was  the  most  desirable  woman  in 
the  whole  wide  world.  He  felt  strong,  capable,  will- 
ing to  dare  the  resorts — whether  to  the  police,  or  to 
trickery,  or  to  plain  violence — of  a  score  of  Landers 
or  Blackmars. 

He  laughed  aloud.  Why,  Blackmar  and  Landers 
were  making  offers  already!  Of  course — and 
shrewdness  came  to  him — they  might  be  feinting. 
They  could  not  be  sure  that  he  had  taken  the  canvas 
trunk.  Once  they  were  sure,  they  might  whistle 
different  tunes.  The  offer  of  fifty  thousand  might 
be  a  trick  to  draw  him  on.  Well,  the  trick  had  failed. 

It  gave  him  confidence  in  himself  to  know  that  he 
had  met,  on  the  field  of  tactics,  two  men  like  Landers 
and  Blackmar,  each  a  man  of  mark  in  his  line.  He 
had  them  guessing.  It  was,  then,  extremely  silly 
for  him  to  do  any  guessing  himself. 

A  man  who  achieved  greatly  in  this  world  surely 
spent  little  time  pondering  the  consequences  of  his 
acts.  He  decided  what  acts  were  necessary  to  his 
success,  and  went  ahead  and  performed  them.  And 
big  men  refused  to  be  bound  by  little  rules.  With- 
out doing  harm  to  anyone,  he  could,  by  virtue  of  the 
possession  of  a  fortune,  little  of  which  he  would 
spend  and  that  little  replace,  make  himself  a  man 
marked  for  success. 


UNEASY  STREET  175 

The  rules  were  for  the  losers,  not  for  the  winners. 
He  was  a  winner. 

The  smile  that  was  on  his  lips  when  he  went  to  bed 
lingered  there  after  sleep  had  come  to  him. 


XVI 

rilHE  door-bell  rang,  and  Eileen  glanced  sharply 
A     at  the  clock.     It  was  not  quite   three.      She 
frowned    slightly.      Captain    Baird    surely    should 
know  that  this  was  not  the  tea-hour. 

She  opened  the  door  herself,  but  the  smile  that 
she  had  conjured  to  her  lips  vanished  immediately 
as  she  saw  Blackmar.  He  nodded. 

"  'Lo,  Eileen!    Not  butting  in,  am  I?" 

She  stood  aside  to  let  him  pass.  With  the  air  of 
one  doing  a  usual  thing,  he  hung  his  hat  and  coat 
and  stick  upon  a  hook.  She  walked  down  the  hall 
to  the  little  drawing-room,  and  he  followed.  A  gas- 
log  was  burning  in  the  grate,  and  he  stood  before 
it,  his  feet  spread  wide.  He  seemed  very  much 
the  master  of  the  house. 

"Well,  you  don't  seem  overly  enthusiastic,  my 
dear,"  he  said. 

She  eyed  him,  her  face  cold.  He  seemed  a  trifle 
too  well-groomed  to  her  to-day.  That  was  odd,  too, 
because  he  was  dressed  in  perfect  taste. 

"How  much  time  do  you  spend  dressing  yourself, 
Sam?"  she  asked. 

He  frowned. 

"Probably  less  than  you  do,  Eileen,  my  dear." 

"Yet  more  than  the  ordinary  man." 
176 


UNEASY  STREET  177 

He  smiled. 

"I  am  not  an  ordinary  man,  Eileen." 

She  turned  away  from  him  and  rearranged  some 
flowers — long-stemmed  American  Beauties — in  a 
slim  vase  upon  a  little  table. 

"No;  I  hardly  think  that  you  are,  Sam."  There 
was  something  hinting  of  contempt  in  her  voice. 

"Meaning  that  you  wish  I  were,  Eileen?"  he 
asked. 

She  moved  away  from  the  vase ;  her  eyes  met  his ; 
her  expression  was  indifferent,  bored. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  anything,  Sam." 

"I  thought  you  did." 

She  sat  down  on  a  divan.  It  was  a  fairly  wide 
affair,  and  Blackmar  noticed  that  she  sat  exactly 
in  the  center. 

"It's  a  fault  of  yours,  Sam — suspiciousness." 

"Eh?"    His  face  expressed  hurt  surprise. 

"Oh,  you  know  perfectly  well  what  I  mean.  I  can 
manage  to  endure  your  questions — they're  in  bad 
taste — but  snooping " 

"  'Snooping?' '  He  was  too  bland;  his  question- 
ing eyes  were  too  well  bred. 

"Snooping.  You  know  what  it  is.  Your  com- 
ing-around  this  afternoon  is  snooping.  I  told  you 
that  I  would  not  be  at  home  to-day,"  she  accused. 

"You  did,"  .he  admitted.  "But  there  is  some 
business,  Eileen " 

"You  could  have  telephoned.  What  is  the  busi- 
ness?" she  demanded. 

From  his  pocket  he  drew  a  note-book. 

"American  Carpet,"  he  said,  consulting  the  book, 


178  UNEASY  STREET 

"has  advanced  eight  points  in  the  past  month.  I 
think  that  it  would  be  advisable  for  you  to  sell  and 
invest  in  bonds  that  I  have  investigated.  American 
Carpet  pays  six  per  cent.,  but  these  bonds  are  not 
so  subject  to  the  market's  fluctuation.  You  would 
not  be  tempted  to  sell  if  they  dropped  a  few  points, 
as  you  would  if  American " 

"You  know  that  I  never  look  at  the  stock-re- 
ports," she  interrupted. 

He  slapped  the  little  book  shut.  He  thrust  it 
into  his  pocket. 

"All  right,  then,  Eileen.  If  you  will  have  me 
come  right  out  with  it — Baird  is  entirely  too  friendly 
with  you.  I  thought  that  if  I  arrived  here  before 
he  did,  you  might  not  be  at  home  when  he  did 
come." 

"And  why,"  she  asked,  "are  you  so  certain  that 
he  is  to  be  here  to-day?" 

"He  told  me  so." 

"Yes?" 

"I  telephoned  him.  Wanted  to  see  him  this  after- 
noon. He  said  that  he  had  an  engagement  with 
you." 

"Too  bad  that  you  didn't  think  to  offer  to  make 
an  apology  to  me  for  him,"  she  said. 

His  fingers  fumbled  with  his  mustache. 

"You  aren't  attractive  when  you're  sardonic, 
Eileen,"  he  told  her. 

"And  no  one  is  attractive  when  he's  impertinent," 
she  retorted  angrily.  "By  what  right  do  you  as- 
sume to  dictate " 

He  grew  conciliatory  at  once. 


UNEASY  STREET  179 

"Oh,  look  here,  Eileen.  Let's  not  quarrel  over 
an  unimportant  little  pup  that " 

"You  mean  Captain  Baird?  He  was  important 
enough  to  win  a  commission  in  the  army." 

He  shrugged. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  to  insinuate  that  he's  not  been 
a  good  soldier,  and — what  do  you  know  about  him, 
Eileen?" 

"Beyond  that  he's  a  gentleman,  well  bred,  a  friend 
of  Jimmy's — what  do  you  know  about  him?" 

"Not  as  much  as  I  intend  to,"  he  said.  A  certain 
grimness  slid  into  his  voice. 

"Just  what  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Oh,  nothing,  except — nothing  at  all,  Eileen. 
Let's  forget  him." 

"Didn't  Captain  Baird  tell  you  that  he  had  an 
engagement  with  me?"  she  asked. 

"What  difference  does  that  make?  What  does 
he  matter?" 

"I  don't  know."  She  uttered  the  three  words 
slowly;  a  meditative  look  crept  into  her  eyes. 

"You  don't  know?" 

"How  should  I?"  She  smiled  sweetly.  "I've  only 
known  him  since  New  Year's  eve." 

"Five  days!" 

"You're  not  a  bit  amusing  when  you're  jealous, 
Sam,"  she  told  him.  "You  don't  mind  my  telling 
you  that  I  don't  care  for  it?" 

He  laughed. 

"  'Jealousy'  is  a  rather  large  word  to  describe  it, 
Eileen.  Let's  say  that  I'm  annoyed." 

"At  what?"  she  asked. 


180  UNEASY  STREET 

"Well,  for  one  thing,  at  his  taking  you  home  last 
night." 

"I  was  tired  of  staying  there.  I  didn't  particu- 
larly care  for  your  friends." 

"Baird' s  friends  as  much  as  mine!"  he  snapped. 
"Besides,  I  was  seeing  Landers  on  a  matter  of  busi- 
ness." 

"What  sort  of  business,  Sam?" 

His  eyes  met  hers  swiftly,  then  dropped  away. 

"Oh,  it's  too  long  a  matter  to  explain — if  you 
don't  mind." 

"I  don't,"  she  said  coolly.  "Go  on.  You  were 
objecting  to  the  fact  that  Captain  Baird  took  me 
home.  Why  didn't  you  offer  to  do  so  yourself, 
then?" 

"You  seemed  to  have  made  your  decision,  Eileen, 
and — I  thought  nothing  of  it.  But  to-day,  when  I 
learned  that  he  was  coming  here  for  tea—  He  dined 
here  Friday  night —  It's  all  right,  Eileen,  but — • 
drop  him  for  a  while,  will  you?" 

"Why  for  a  while,  Sam?" 

"Oh,  because — "    He  hesitated. 

"You  mean  that  you  know  something  discreditable 
to  him." 

"It  may  possibly  amount  to  that." 

"I  don't  believe  you!"  she  blazed. 

"Eh?" 

"I  don't  believe  you."  She  stared  at  him  com- 
batively. "If  you  know  anything  definite  about 
Captain  Baird " 

"At  least,"  he  defended  himself,  "I'm  a  friend  of 


UNEASY  STREET  181 

yours  of  several  years'  standing.  If  I  ask  you  to 
see  little  of  Baird " 

"Years  have  nothing  to  do  with  friendship,"  she 
declared.  "Captain  Baird  is  a  friend  of  mine,  too." 

He  sneered. 

"He's  a  friend  of  Jimmy  Ladd,  too.  The  gentle- 
man seems  to  have  a  talent  that  way.  Confidence 
men  have  the  same  thing." 

She  shook  her  head  slowly. 

"At  times,  Sam,  I  think  that  you  are  a  very  little 
man." 

He  bowed. 

"I  thank  you,  my  dear.  Nevertheless,  please  heed 
the  little  man's  request.  Telephone  Baird  and " 

"Impossible." 

"I  ask  very  little  of  you,  Eileen." 

"Why  should  you  ask  anything?" 

His  self-possession  was  deserting  him;  his  face 
was  red. 

"Certainly  our  relation  to  one  another  gives  me 
certain  rights,"  he  said. 

"  'Our  relation?' '  She  was  charmingly  bewil- 
dered. 

"Oh,  quit  posing,  Eileen !  You  don't  fool  me  for  a 
minute.  You  know  perfectly  well  that  you  intend 
to  marry  me,  and — why  annoy  me  about  a  conceited 
young  ass  who " 

"Kisses  delightfully,  and  becomes  most  winningly 
flustered  and  apologetic  afterward." 

His  eyes,  ordinarily  bland,  unrevealing  of  self, 
glinted. 

"It's  reached  that  stage,  eh?"     She  nodded.     "If 


182  UNEASY  STREET 

I  did  such  a  thing — "  He  took  a  step  toward  her. 
She  smiled  at  him. 

"But  you  wouldn't,  Sam.  I  don't  think  the  cave- 
man part  would  suit  you  at  all." 

"Of  course  not.  Certainly  not!"  He  retreated 
a  step  toward  the  fireplace.  "Oh,  well,  if  the  circum- 
stances are  as  you  say,  why — er — I  won't  be  stay- 
ing, Eileen." 

She  was  infinitely  sweet. 

"I  thought  not — when  you  understood,  Sam." 

"I  understand — quite.  Thank  you.  I'd  advise 
you  not  to  plan  on  marrying  him,  Eileen.  Really." 

"For  my  own  good?  All  that  sort  of  thing?  I 
understand,  Sam." 

"Perhaps   you  don't — fully." 

He  moved  stiffly  toward  the  hall,  then  turned  sud- 
denly. His  face  had  lost  its  look  of  anger,  was 
appealing. 

"Oh,  Eileen,  don't " 

"What  right  have  you  to  advise  me,  to — even 
threaten  me — to  insinuate?"  She  was  downright 
angry  now. 

"You  have  permitted  me  to  pay  you  attention,'* 
he  protested. 

"But  that  wouldn't  make  people  think  us  engaged 
if  it  weren't  for  your — air  of  proprietorship.  I 
don't  like  it.  I'm  too  complaisant.  I've  liked  you; 
I  do  like  you,  but — you  ask  me  to  go  to  a  place  like 
the  Maison  d'Or,  saying  that  you  want  to  meet  some 
one  there.  I  go  with  you.  And  then  you  permit 
another  man  to  take  me  home." 

"You  asked  him  to  take  you." 


UNEASY  STREET  183 

"Why  should  you  permit  me  to  ask  him?"  she 
blazed. 

"Oh,  come,  Eileen;  isn't  that  stretching  things? 
One  moment  you  tell  me  that  I'm  not  the  caveman 
type,  and  the  next  you  are  angry  because  I  don't 
play  the  part." 

"Well,  you  couldn't,"  she  said  petulantly.  Then, 
suddenly,  she  smiled.  "I'm  a  funny  girl,  Sam." 

"You're  a  most  adorable  girl!" 

"Really  ?  You  think  so  ?  Oh,  I  wish  that  I  were ; 
but — oh,  well,  what's  the  use?" 

"Of  what?" 

"Of  crying  for  the  moon." 

"Does  the  moon  have  any  name  that  I  know?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  replied. 

"Not— Baird?" 

She  shrugged. 

"Sam,  I  don't  know." 

"Yet — if  you  married  me — I'm  sure  that  you 
would." 

She  looked  at  him  through  half-closed  lids. 

"I  wonder.  So  many  men — I  imagine  all  men — 
say  that." 

"And  while  you  wonder,  I'm  losing — much." 

"I'm  not  sure.  I  might  not  make  a  pleasant  wife, 
Sam." 

"I  will  wager  my  happiness  that  you  will." 

"A  great  stake.  It's  not  like  losing  in  the  market, 
Sam.  One  can  make  another  fortune,  but  find  an- 
other happiness " 

"And  I  can't  persuade  you  to  marry  me  to-mor- 
row?" 


184  UNEASY  STREET 

She  smiled  adorably. 

"Are  you  trying  to?" 

"I  will." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"No  use,  Sam— yet." 

"I  wonder  if  it  will  ever  be  of  any  use." 

She  had  been  leaning  back  on  the  divan.  Now, 
suddenly,  she  sat  bolt  upright. 

"Well,  if  it  isn't,  Sam,  I'll  return  all  your  pres- 
ents, and " 

"Eileen!" 

"Sorry;  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you,  but — I 
shouldn't  have  taken  them  in  the  first  place.  Sam, 
behold  a  young  lady  who  doesn't  know  what  she 
wants !" 

He  smiled. 

"Perhaps  she'll  find  out." 

"Perhaps.    Run  along  now." 

He  accepted  his  dismissal  with  a  shrug.  She  fol- 
lowed him  into  the  hall.  As  he  put  his  hand  upon 
the  door-knob,  she  spoke. 

"Sorry  if  I've  been  a  mean  thing,  Sam,  but — you 
brought  it  on  yourself.  And — do  you  really  know 
anything  against  Captain  Baird?" 

"I've  told  you  all  that  I  care  to  just  now,  Eileen. 
I  wish  that  you'd  not  see  him." 

Temper  flared  again  in  her. 

"I  think  that  you're  just  jealous  and  petty,  Sam. 
I  will  see  him!" 

She  walked  slowly  back  into  her  drawing-room 
and  sat  down  before  the  fire.  Whatever  else  Black-* 
mar's  faults  were,  jealousy  had  never  been  among 


UNEASY  STREET  185 

them  before.  And,  she  admitted  to  herself  with  a 
reminiscent  smile,  he'd  had  cause  enough  in  the  past. 
She  wondered  just  what  his  insinuations  against 
Baird  meant.  She  felt  a  queer  tightness  about  her 
heart  as  her  mind  dwelt  on  his  vague  accusations. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  she  had  really,  in  five  days, 
begun  to  care  for  a  man  about  whom  she  knew  noth- 
ing? Absurd!  Yet  her  heart  leaped  as  the  bell 
rang  promptly  at  four. 
* 


xvn 

THE  rooms  at  Derriby's  were  more  attractive 
Sunday  morning  than  at  any  time  on  Satur- 
day. Baird  awoke  late.  A  pressure  on  an  electric 
bell  brought  Grannan,  from  whom  he  learned  that 
the  hour  was  noon.'  It  was  luxurious,  lying  here  in 
bed,  idly  watching  the  valet  lay  out  underwear, 
hearing  the  water  tumbling  in  the  tub. 

There  were  no  limits  to  the  distinction  which 
wealth  conferred  on  whatever  was  brought  within 
its  range,  Baird  decided,  as,  twenty  minutes  later, 
bathed  and  shaved,  with  the  morning  paper  in  his 
hand,  he  sat  down  before  the  breakfast  that  Gran- 
nan  had  laid  on  a  table  in  the  living-room  beside 
the  window. 

How  delightful  life  could  be,  if  one  lived  it  prop- 
erly !  And  it  was  impossible  to  live  it  properly  with- 
out money.  Well — he  had  the  money. 

The  morning  paper  held  him  for  fully  an  hour 
after  he  had  finished  his  breakfast.  The  world  was 
passing  through  its  most  critical  hours,  more  crit- 
ical even  than  the  great  war  which  had  terminated 
only  a  couple  of  months  ago.  He  "caught  up"  with 
the  news  of  the  past  few  days,  and  then  spent  a 
pleasant  half -hour  with  his  nose  close  to  the  window, 
looking  at  the  people  on  Fifth  Avenue. 

186 


UNEASY  STREET  187 

The  mild  winter  had  brought  the  people  out.  It 
might  have  been  a  Sunday  near  Easter.  It  was  a 
wonderful  thing  not  merely  to  be  in  New  York  but 
to  be  on  New  York's  most  fashionable  thoroughfare. 
And  to  have  a  tea-engagement  with  the  most  allur- 
ing woman  in  the  world — 

The  telephone  brought  him  from  contemplation  of 
Eileen's  charms.  It  was  Blackmar.  Baird  felt  him- 
self shaking. 

"Could  I  see  you  this  afternoon,  Captain  Baird?" 
asked  Blackmar. 

"What  time?"  asked  Baird. 

"Oh,  around  four." 

"Sorry.     I  have  a  tea-engagement." 

"Oh!    Be  back  at  five?"  asked  Blackmar. 

"I  couldn't  say.    What  was  it  you  wished?" 

"Thought  that  I  might  interest  you  in  a  littU, 
matter;  but  it  can  wait.  Having  tea  with  Miss  El- 
sing?" 

"Yes."     Baird's  voice  was  cold. 

"Fortunate  man !"  Blackmar's  laugh  was  quite 
cordial.  "Well,  I'll  look  you  up  early  in  the  week.'* 

Baird  walked  slowly  to  the  mirror  after  he  had 
hung  up.  Last  night,  Blackmar  had  hinted — but  it 
might  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  trunk  that 
Landers  claimed  to  have  lost.  It  might  simply  be 
that  Blackmar  was  really  less  complaisant  than  he 
had  seemed  last  night.  It  was  rather  bald,  the  way 
he  had  asked  if  Baird  was  to  see  Eileen  to-day. 
Maybe  the  man  was  jealous.  That  Blackmar  had 
some  business  with  Baird  didn't  ring  quite  true. 
But  why  not?  Was  he  not  the  intimate  of  Jimmy 


188  UNEASY  STREET 

Ladd?  Was  he  not  to  enter  Jimmy's  employ  to- 
morrow? Hadn't  he,  Baird,  been  too  ready  to  take4 
alarm?  Miss  Holben  had  undoubtedly  kept  her 
mouth  rather  tightly  closed.  Landers  and  Black- 
mar  knew  little ;  they  might  suspect — probably  they 
didn't  even  suspect.  His  own  alarmed  imagination 
made  him  read  suspicion  in  every  casual  remark. 
Undoubtedly,  Blackmar  was  either  jealous,  and 
wished  to  learn  what  foundation  he  had  for  his  jeal- 
ousy, or  else  he  genuinely  had  some  business  oppor- 
tunity for  Baird. 

But  Blackmar  was,  at  least,  crude,  if  jealousy 
had  inspired  his  telephone-call.  Baird's  lips  were 
still  curled,  a  while  later,  as  he  carefully  adjusted 
his  tie.  He  thought,  were  positions  reversed,  that 
he  would  have  more  dignity  than  Blackmar  had 
shown.  Now  that  he  thought  it  over,  perhaps  Black- 
mar's  laugh  wasn't  so  very  cordial  when  he  had 
exclaimed,  "Fortunate  man !" 

And  Eileen's  first  words,  as  he  entered  her  apart- 
ment, made  him  believe  that  he  had  diagnosed  the 
cause  of  the  telephone-call. 

"Captain  Baird,  do  you  always  involve  the  girls 
whom  you  meet  in  troublesome  cross-examinations?" 

Reluctantly  he  surrendered  the  hand  that  she  had 
extended  to  him,  and  put  his  hat  and  overcoat  upon 
the  stand. 

"I'm  not  good  at  riddles,"  he  said.  "Who's  been 
cross-examined  by  whom?" 

"Eileen  Elsing  by  Samuel  Blackmar." 

"Eh?"  They  were  in  the  drawing-room  now. 
"Why  should  he " 


UNEASY  STREET  189 

"In  five  days,  you  have  made  the  imperturbable 
Sam  jealous,"  she  said.  "What  on  earth  will  you 
do  in  five  weeks?" 

"Marry  you,  I  hope,"  he  said. 

"You  don't  happen  to  have  brought  a  ring  with 
you?"  She  smiled. 

"Would  you  wear  it?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

"I'd  try  it  on.  That's  the  least  I  could  do,  isn't 
it?" 

"I'll  bring  one  to-morrow!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Please  don't."  She  laughed.  "You  tempt  me, 
Captain  Baird,  and — I  don't  wish  to  be  tempted." 

"You  prefer  to  do  the  tempting." 

Her  eyes  mocked  him. 

"Don't  I  do  it  rather  well?" 

He  met  her  spirit  of  raillery. 

"Too  well;  it  smacks  of  rehearsal." 

She  frowned. 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I  like  that  remark." 

"It  is  withdrawn,  lady,"  he  said.     "It  is  unsaid." 

"It  is  unheard,  also."  She  sat  down  on  the  divan. 
He  stood  before  the  fire,  as  Blackmar  had  done  a 
little  while  ago.  She  could  not  help  comparing  the 
two  men.  Baird  was  infinitely  better  to  look  upon 
than  the  man  who  had  stood  there  earlier  in  the 
afternoon. 

"Why  did  Mr.  Blackmar  cross-examine  you?"  he 
asked. 

"I've  told  you.  I  wonder  if  I'm  wise  in  telling 
you.  You  will  think  me  vain — or  a  trouble-maker." 

"Neither,"  he  assured  her.  "But — what  did 
Blackmar  want  to  know?" 


190  UNEASY  STREET 

"Who  and  what  you  were." 

"A  large  order.  Does  anyone  know  who  and 
what  anyone  else  is?" 

"A  philosopher!  And  impetuous,  too.  I  didn't 
think  the  two  could  be  combined." 

He  shrugged  with  an  affectation  of  conceit. 

"I  have  my  talents,  Miss  Elsing." 

"You  don't  seem  to  resent  Sam's  interest." 

"I'm  too  much  flattered.  And  that  you  should 
repeat  it  to  me " 

The  entrance  of  the  maid  with  tea  and  tiny  sand- 
wiches of  lettuce  and  bread  and  butter  cut  extremely 
thin  interrupted  his  speech.  He  watched  her  as  she 
poured,  admiring  the  firm  flesh  of  her  forearm,  the 
round  wrist,  and  the  well-shaped  hand. 

"You  were  remarking,"  she  said,  upon  the  maid's 
departure,  "that  I  flattered  you.  I  don't  mean  to, 
Captain  Baird.  But — the  conventional  annoys  me. 
And  the  unconventional  annoys  men.  Yet  I  have 
the  better  reason." 

"Conceded,"  he  said. 

She  shook  her  head  impatiently. 

"That's  gallantry.  You  really  don't  know  what 
I'm  talking  about,  do  you?" 

He  grinned. 

"I'm  afraid  that  I  don't." 

"Yet  you  concede  that  I  am  right.  That's  the 
whole  trouble  with  marriage,  Captain  Baird.  A 
man  courts  a  girl.  He  presents  his  best  side.  What- 
ever she  says,  no  matter  how  silly,  he  listens  to  as 
though  it  were  inspired.  As  for  the  girl,  she  pre- 
tends to  a  sugariness  that  she  hasn't.  Both  are 


UNEASY  STREET  191 

deceived;  both  wake  up.  When  I  marry,  Captain 
Baird,  there  will  be  no  divorce.  I  mean  to  know 
something  about  my  husband  before  he  is  my  hus- 
band." She  drank  her  tea,  looking  at  him  over  the 
edge  of  her  cup.  "It  is  a  most  unmaidenly  thing, 
if  we  must  believe  our  grandmothers  and  certain 
novelists,  for  a  girl  to  admit  to  one  man  that  an- 
other man  wishes  to  marry  her.  Yet  that  is  the 
very  thing  she  ought  to  tell  him.  Not  for  the  pur- 
pose of  piquing  him,  of  spurring  him  on  to  an 
avowal,  but  because  he  ought  to  know  it.  Espe- 
cially if  jealousy  has  been  aroused.  A  woman  can 
work  tremendous  harm  by  arousing  jealousy.  But 
if  she  tells  the  man  concerned —  Mr.  Blackmar 
wanted  to  see  you  to-day." 

"Yes.  I  don't  know  why.  Unless  it  was  to  find 
out  if  I  were  coming  here." 

She  looked  thoughtful. 

"I  suppose  so.  I  was  extremely  angry  with  you 
last  night."  He  tried  to  look  abashed.  "Don't  pro- 
fess too  much  regret,  Captain.  It  wouldn't  be  tact- 
ful. After  all — present  your  case." 

He  stared  at  her. 

"My  'case?'  "  he  echoed. 

She  nodded. 

"Sam  Blackmar  is  worth  eight  millions,  more  or 
less.  It  will  be  more,  never  less.  Sam  is  that  kind. 
In  his  own  way,  he  adores  me.  I  don't  say  that  it 
is  exactly  the  way  I  wish  to  be  adored,  but — it  isn't 
a  bad  way.  He's  forty-five,  has  an  excellent  business 
and  social  standing.  What  do  you  offer,  Captain 
Baird?"  He  gasped.  "I  surprise  you,  eh?"  She 


192  UNEASY  STREET 

laughed,  but  her  tone  was  very  businesslike.  "Yet, 
if  Sam  Blackmar  tried  to  get  you  to  enter  business 
with  him,  you'd  not  hesitate  to  ask  him  what  he  had 
to  offer.  You'd  be  most  meticulous.  But  I'm  a 
girl.  You're  asking  m« — I  take  you  seriously — to 
marry  you.  Your  character — one  can  guess  only 
at  that.  I  have  to  guess  at  Sam  Blackmar's,  though 
I've  known  him  several  years.  But  your  other  as- 
sets  " 

"I'm  not  a  millionaire,"  Baird  said  resentfully. 
"But  I  would  be  able,  I  think,  to  do  for  you " 

"In  the  style  to  which  I  have  been  accustomed?" 
She  chuckled.  "You  see,  I  have  to  be  my  own  father 
and  question  the  young  men,  Captain.  The  woman 
who  marries  with  her  heart  alone  is  a  fool.  And 
most  men  pretend  to  want  fools  for  wives.  But  I 
refuse  to  yield  to  their  pretenses."  She  looked  at 
him  carefully.  "You're  not  bad-looking,  you  know. 
You  dance  well;  you're  only  twenty-six " 

"Is  it  so  impertinent,  so  presumptuous,  my  falling 
in  love  with  you,  that  you  must  make  fun  of  me?" 
he  demanded,  flushing. 

Her  eyes  widened. 

"Making  fun  of  you?  My  dear  Captain  Baird,  I 
was  never  so  serious  in  my  life.  But  you're  like  all 
men.  If  a  woman  is  honest,  she's  incredible.  Blame 
your  own  impetuosity  for  my  frankness.  If  you 
were  a  little  less  hasty,  I  would  not  need  to  shock 
your  ideal  of  maidenly  silliness,  of  girlish  reckless- 
ness concerning  the  most  important  thing  in  a  wom- 
an's life — her  marriage.  But — do  you  suppose  that 
I  told  you  of  Sam  Blackmar's  jealousy  merely  to 


UNEASY  STREET  193 

flatter  you?"  She  shook  her  head.  "Because  you 
may  be  interfering  with  a  very  important  matter; 
you  may  be  causing  me  to  refuse  a  remarkable  op- 
portunity. I  want  to  know  what  you  have  to  offer 
in  exchange."  She  paused. 

Slowly  he  spoke. 

"You're  quite  the  strangest  girl  in  the  world." 

"Of  course.  I  put  my  thoughts  into  words.  But 
why  not  ?  Do  you" — eyes  that  were  provocative  last 
night  were  alluring  now — "love  me  any  the  less  for 
it?"  He  started  forward  from  his  chair.  Her  hands 
made  a  motion  as  though  to  fend  him  away.  "That 
wouldn't  help  me  to  find  my  own  decision.  You'd 
find  it  for  me,  and — I'm  the  least  bit  afraid  of 
you." 

He  sank  back  into  his  chair.  The  telephone-bell 
rang  before  he  could  speak.  Eileen  went  into  the 
next  room.  He  could  not  hear  what  she  said,  but 
when  she  came  back,  her  face  was  very  white. 

"My  uncle,"  she  said.  "A  stroke,  my  cousin  tells 
me.  Will  you  excuse " 

"Certainly,"  he  told  her.  "Can  I  take  you — get 
a  taxi?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"They're  sending  a  car  for  me." 

"I  hope  it's  nothing  serious — "  He  said  no  more. 
From  her  eyes  he  knew  that  she  feared.  She  did 
not  go  to  the  door  with  him.  He  let  himself  out. 

But  he  could  not  dwell  upon  the  illness  of  her 
uncle,  who,  if  Jimmy  Ladd  had  been  correct,  had 
not  been  any  too  kind  to  her.  He  dwelt  on  the 
amazing  directness  of  the  girl.  And  it  did  not  de- 


194  UNEASY  STREET 

tract  from  her  charm,  either.  Well — because  she 
was  right!  After  all,  if  a  man  is  trying  to  change 
the  whole  course  of  a  girl's  life,  he  ought  to  be  will- 
ing that  she  should  exercise  a  certain  caution  con- 
cerning her  relation  toward  him. 

His  lips  straightened.  Blackmar  was  jealous. 
That  meant  that  any  suspicions  Blackmar  had  would 
be  told  to  Eileen  the  moment  that  he  considered  his 
jealousy  founded  on  cause.  Which  meant,  further, 
that  Blackmar  must  never  know  that  his  suspicions 
were  just.  Oh,  well — and  his  shoulders  straightened 
— it  would  be  possible  to  return  the  money  to  Lan- 
ders, or  whoever  owned  it,  without  the  owner  know- 
ing who  returned  it.  In  the  meantime,  it  would  be 
as  well  to  meet  Blackmar  soon,  to  lull  his  suspicions. 

But  when  he  reached  his  rooms  at  Derriby's,  he 
wondered  whether  it  would  be  easy  to  lull  those 
suspicions.  Some  one  had  been  in  his  rooms — not 
any  of  the  employees  of  the  building,  inquiry  ascer- 
tained for  him.  But  some  one  who  was  interested, 
not  in  theft  of  his  belongings — none  of  his  trifling 
jewelry,  none  of  his  money  was  disturbed.  But  cer- 
tain letters  had  been  read.  He  knew  that,  because 
they  were  not  in  their  envelopes,  as  they  had  been 
when  he  had  gone  out.  Also,  other  papers  had  been 
taken  from  his  portfolio.  They  had  been  replaced, 
but  hastily. 

He  began  to  understand  why  Blackmar  had  asked 
where  he  was  going.  Blackmar  wanted  time  in 
which  to  work.  Or  to  let  his  accomplices  work. 

Well,  they  hadn't  found  anything — not  a  thing 
that  would  incriminate.  They  would  know,  though, 


UNEASY  STREET  195 

that  he  had  received  only  a  trifling  sum  for  his 
Linestream  property.  Well,  he  might  have  a  hun- 
dred other  sources  of  income  for  all  they  knew — or 
could  prove. 

But  he  was  glad  that  the  money  that  he  had 
taken  from  the  canvas  trunk  was  in  storage.  If  he 
had  delayed  in  getting  that  out  of  the  way!  But 
he  hadn't.  Why,  then,  shiver  with  apprehension? 

He'd  keep  an  eye  on  Grannan.  The  man  seemed 
to  be  altogether  too  curious  in  a  deferential,  obse- 
quious manner.  How  simple  for  Blackmar  or  Lan- 
ders to  have  bribed  the  body-servant!  That  Gran- 
nan  was  supposed  to  be  off  for  the  afternoon  meant 
nothing.  He  was  extremely  glad  that  he  had  not 
deposited  all  the  money  in  the  bank.  For  Grannan, 
or  whoever  had  searched  his  effects,  would  have  read 
the  entry  in  the  bank-book.  But  the  questions  born 
of  his  own  fears  were  still  unanswered  when,  after 
dinner  in  his  own  rooms,  he  finally  went  to  sleep. 

A  sharp  report  brought  him  upright  in  his  bed. 
For  a  moment,  until  the  unmuffled  curses  of  the  un- 
fortunate taximan  in  the  avenue  below  floated 
through  the  open  window  and  told  him  what  had 
happened,  he  thought  himself  in  France  again.  Then 
he  lay  back  and  smiled.  But  there  was  no  humor 
in  the  smile ;  it  was  quizzical,  self -directed. 

Life  was  something  like  an  automobile  tire. 
Smoothly  one  sailed  along,  and  then — the  merest 
tack  of  circumstance  got  in  the  way  and — a  blow- 
out! 

He  switched  on  the  electric  lamp  near  the  head 


196  UNEASY  STREET 

of  the  bed.  Cigarettes  and  matches  were  upon  a 
stand  close  by.  He  reached  out,  and,  a  moment 
later,  was  smoking. 

The  simile  of  the  automobile  tire  amused  him. 
What  bit  of  glass  could  wreck  his  smooth  ride  now? 
Blackmar?  Fannie  Holben?  Landers? 

He  blew  a  ring  of  smoke  and  watched  it  lose  its 
perfect  form.  Why  didn't  one  or  all  of  those  three 
persons  come  out  in  the  open?  Two  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars  was  a  fortune.  Its  rightful  claimant 
should  be  moving  every  power  to  regain  it. 

Its  rightful  claimant!  The  word  intrigued  him. 
Rightful!  Possession  was  nine  points  of  law,  and  he 
held  those  nine  points.  What  sort  of  person  would 
he  be  to  consider  surrendering  those  nine  points  to 
anyone  who  could  not  prove  a  perfect  title?  And 
what  sort  of  person  would  he  be  to  worry  until  the 
owner  of  that  clear  title  appeared? 

People  knew  about  that  money — yes.  Landers, 
Blackmar,  and  Fannie  Holben.  But  knowledge 
meant  nothing.  Why  didn't  they  demand  it?  Be- 
cause, obviously,  it  wasn't  theirs.  Then  whose  was 
it?  How  could  he,  Baird,  do  any  harm  to  that 
owner  by  mere  sequestration  of  the  money? 

That  was  all  it  amounted  to — sequestration.  But, 
inasmuch  as  there  was  no  hue  and  cry  raised  about 
the  money  just  now,  it  behooved  him  to  wait  until 
the  owner  openly  declared  himself. 

Indeed,  by  seeking  out  the  person  who  had  placed 
it  in  his  room  at  the  Tramby,  he  might  do  evil. 
There  is  a  cause  for  all  mysterious  happenings.  And 
frequently  the  cause  is  evil.  Something  furtively 


UNEASY  STREET  197 

evil  lay  behind  the  failure  of  the  money's  owner 
to  come  out  into  the  public  prints  with  the  story  of 
his  loss.  It  could  easily  be  argued  that,  by  biding 
his  time,  Baird  was  doing  good. 

So  untold  millions  hare  comforted  themselves.  "I 
mean  no  harm,"  they  say,  as  they  take  the  first  step. 
But  wrong  is  like  gravity.  Eternally  it  pulls,  and 
the  pull  is  ever  (Downward. 

Man  does  not  stand  alone.  Cast  upon  a  desert 
island  he  exists,  if  he  does,  because  of  the  millions  of 
men  who  have  lived  before  him,  who  have  transmitted 
to  him  resourcefulness. 

And  no  event  stands  alone.  Other  events  lead  up 
to  it ;  it,  in  turn,  leads  up  to  still  other  things.  No 
action  can  be  final  in  itself.  It  leads  to  other  ac- 
tions. But  of  this  Baird  was  not  thinking  as  he 
turned  out  the  light.  He  had  no  wish  to  read  the 
future.  The  assurance  of  youth  was  his;  he  could 
meet  the  future  when  it  arrived. 


xvm 

TAMES  McPHERSON  LADD,  senior,  had  been 
tJ  born  "set"  in  his  ways.  Broader  than  most 
"set"  men,  he  did  not  sneer  at  and  condemn  the  new 
style  of  business  building.  But  he  would  not  move 
the  offices  that  had  been  his  father's ;  no  piled  mil- 
lions could  tempt  him  to  tear  down  the  three-story 
Ladd  Building  and  in  its  place  erect  an  eighteen- 
story  edifice  that  the  blind  would  think  was  another 
tribute  to  money-lust,  but  the  seeing  would  know  was 
another  expression  of  the  striving  spirit  of  America, 
the  spirit  that  ever  reaches,  and  deems  no  glory  set 
too  high  to  be  seized  for  her  great  diadem. 

Sky-scrapers  were  all  very  well.  The  old  gentle- 
man, on  hearing  well-born  foreigners  exclaim  over 
the  amazing  beauty  of  Manhattan's  sky-line,  on  be- 
ing told  that  the  Woolworth  Building  was  one  of 
the  world's  most  beautiful  structures,  had  reluc- 
tantly come  to  the  sane  conclusion  that  "autres 
temps,  autres  mccurs." 

But,  even  as  he  had  not  yielded  to  the  passion  for 
scroll-saw-carved  woodwork,  so  he  refused  to  yield 
to  the  modern  passion  for  heaping  steel  and  con- 
crete into  the  air.  Men  whom  he  esteemed  had  suf- 
fered no  moral  or  financial  deterioration  by  conduct- 
ing their  affairs  in  bright,  cheery  offices  set  hun- 

198 


UNEASY  STREET  199 

dreds  of  feet  in  the  air,  but  if  he  would  concede  the 
right  of  other  times  to  other  customs,  he  also  wished 
the  concession  to  the  old  dog  of  going  along  com- 
fortably with  his  old  tricks.  He  would  not  learn 
new  ones. 

So,  one  of  that  generation  which  took  its  wealth 
seriously,  he  liked  gloom.  The  modern  generation, 
knowing  that  wealth  is  not  amassed  by  painful 
building  upon  a  firm  foundation  but  depends  upon 
one's  ability  to  think  a  bit  faster  than  one's  neigh- 
bor, makes  no  ritual  of  wealth,  no  fetish  of  it.  Per- 
haps it  esteems  it  more  highly — but  for  the  things 
it  brings,  not  for  itself  alone.  Sanity  grows  in  every 
age. 

To  Baird,  brought  up  in  a  New  England  city, 
where  the  law  limits  the  height  of  the  buildings, 
where  reverence  for  things  as  they  were  is  more 
prevalent  than  in  New  York,  the  Ladd  Building 
seemed  eminently  fitting  as  the  home  of  the  Ladd 
interests. 

"Gloomy  old  dump,  eh,  Rod?"  said  Jimmy,  on 
Monday  morning.  "One  of  the  first  things  I'm  go- 
ing to  fail  in  will  be  my  endeavor  to  persuade  the 
governor  to  move.'* 

"Why?"  demanded  Baird. 

Jimmy  shrugged. 

"The  kale,  kid.  This  property  is  worth  four 
millions.  Its  rental  represents  three  per  cent,  on  half 
a  million.  You  can't  make  people  inhabit  gloomy 
old  rooms  like  these  if  they've  the  money  to  get 
more  modern  offices.  Spend  a  few  millions  more  in 


200  UXEASY  STREET 

putting  up  a  real  office-building  here,  and  the  income 
rises,  old  top." 

"And  the  income  tax,"  smiled  Baird. 

Jimmy's  answering  smile  was  wry. 

Baird's  thoughts  turned  inward.  Suppose,  at  the 
end  of  the  year,  when  he  made  out  his  income  tax, 
he  wanted  to  be  strictly  honest?  But  that  was  rot. 
He'd  have  repaid  long  since  the  money  that  he  was 
using  to-day.  Nevertheless,  it  made  an  interesting 
little  problem. 

He  permitted  Jimmy  to  lead  him  through  the 
offices.  Ladd  &  Company  occupied  the  entire  first 
floor  of  the  building.  Yet  there  were  not,  after  all, 
many  employees.  The  business  which  Ladd,  senior, 
headed  required  not  so  very  many  workers,  it  ap- 
peared. For  the  old  gentleman  dealt  in  money. 
It  takes  a  strong  man  to  carry  a  hod  of  bricks  fifty 
feet,  bricks  worth  perhaps,  even  in  these  days  of 
inflated  values,  a  couple  of  dollars.  But  the  merest 
boy  can  carry  fifty  miles,  if  need  be,  pieces  of  paper 
that  weigh  a  fraction  of  an  ounce  but  that  are 
worth,  perhaps,  a  couple  of  million  dollars.  Money 
is  the  most  tangible  thing  in  the  world;  it  is  also 
the  most  intangible. 

Ladd  &  Company  were  investment  bankers,  what- 
ever that  meant.  For,  apparently,  it  meant  any- 
thing and  everything. 

"It's  like  this,"  said  Jimmy,  in  his  interest  at  ex- 
planation permitting  a  two-cent  cigarette  to  burn  a 
black-walnut  table  that  had  cost  two  hundred  dollars 
once,  but  was  worth  to-day  an  easy  twenty-five  hun- 
dred: "My  grandfather  broke  away  from  the  old 


UNEASY  STREET  201 

tradition  of  Ladd  &  Company.  That  tradition  was 
to  send  your  money  a  long  way  off.  My  ancestors 
shot  their  kale  to  China,  to  the  East  Indies.  But 
grandpop  soaked  a  bunch  of  it  in  this  country.  We 
became  less  an  importing  firm  and  more  an  investing 
firm.  Then  came  along  dad.  He  was  the  real  finan- 
cial genius  of  the  line — until  myself."  He  chuckled. 
"Well,  dad  discovered  that,  while  there  was  money 
in  investing  your  own  dough,  there  was  a  lot  more 
in  investing  other  people's.  So — we're  private  bank- 
ers. No  checking-accounts  against  us,  though. 
Like  family  lawyers,  almost.  Somebody — an  estate, 
most  likely — has  an  extra  million.  They  know  that 
we  know  where  to  put  it.  We  do.  If  they  want  their 
money  in  a  fluid  form,  they  get  four  per  cent.  If 
they  want  it  invested,  they  get  eight  and  ten  and 
twelve." 

Baird  whistled. 

"I  didn't  know  that  anything  safe  paid  such  a 
rate  of  return." 

Jimmy  grinned. 

"Get  you  mortgages  on  the  best  farm-land  in  this 
country  at  eight  per  cent.,  if  you  want.  Safe  and 
good.  Oh,  yes ;  money  will  bring  a  good  return  now 
and  any  old  time.  But  that's  merely  one  line.  We 
finance  propositions  that  are  conservative — street- 
railroads,  water-plants — the  like  of  that." 

"Promotion,"  Baird  nodded  sagely. 

But  Jimmy  shook  his  head. 

"Hardly  that.  Nothing  wild.  Nothing  that  isn't 
all  settled.  Why  take  any  risk?  Established  things 
will  pay  a  big-enough  return.  A  new  holding  com- 


202  UNEASY  STREET 

pany  to  take  over  a  couple  of  going  concerns — • 
Oh,  well,  you'll  get  it  all  soon  enough." 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Baird  dubiously. 

Jimmy  laughed  encouragingly. 

"No  chance  of  failure  for  you,  Rod!  You  aren't 
the  failing  kind." 

Baird  looked  about  him.  They  were  in  a  sort  of 
board-room,  a  room  where  directors  would  be  apt 
to  meet.  In  fact,  that  was  exactly  what  the  room 
was  for.  Ladd  &  Company,  Jimmy  told  him,  repre- 
sented thousands  of  stockholders  in  hundreds  of 
corporations.  Jimmy  himself  would,  in  the  course 
of  the  next  few  weeks,  be  chosen  director  of  scores 
of  corporations. 

"What  am  I  to  do  first?"  asked  Baird. 

Jimmy  shrugged. 

"Oh,  just  kick  around  for  a  few  weeks.  Get  the 
hang  of  the  way  we  do  things.  Then  there's  a  prop- 
osition in  Toledo,  and  another  in  Vincennes,  Indiana. 
Human  element.  The  deal  is  all  right,  if  the  peo- 
ple   That's  your  job,  Reddy  me  buck.  Mean- 
time, look  the  place  over." 

He  vanished  through  the  door  leading  to  Ladd, 
senior's,  private  office.  Baird  walked  into  the  room 
that  had  been  assigned  to  him,  on  the  glass  panel 
of  whose  door  a  painter  was  already  neatly  printing 
the  words: 

MR.   BAIRD 

It  was  a  dream,  an  amazing,  kaleidoscopic  dream, 
in  which  scene  succeeded  scene,  character  succeeded 
character,  event  chased  event.  Donchester,  Robbins 


UNEASY  STREET  203 

&  Bobbins,  the  training-camp,  the  Atlantic,  France, 
the  front,  the  Atlantic,  demobilization,  the  Tramby, 
the  Chummy  Club,  Eileen  Elsing,  the  Central,  the 
canvas  trunk,  Derriby's,  Blackmar,  Fannie  Holben, 
Frankie  Landers,  Ladd,  senior,  Ladd  &  Company, 
his  private  office,  "Mr.  Baird"  on  the  glass — 

He  shook  himself  slightly.  Here  he  was,  at  a 
salary  of  twenty-four  thousand  a  year,  high  in  the 
favor  of  both  partners  in  the  concern,  an  amazing 
financial  career  stretching  out  before  him,  a  social 
career,  he  supposed,  too,  and  a  girl —  And  on 
how  sharp  a  pinnacle  he  perched!  It  might  trans- 
fix him  at  any  moment,  leaving  him  wounded,  gasp- 
ing, a  pitiable  object  for  the  world  to  jibe  at,  an 
example  that  one  must  not  leave  one's  own  class  save 
by  the  routine  way  of  inheriting  or  earning  one's 
money —  Not  by  a  blamed  sight ! 

Jimmy  Ladd  was  so  excited  as  he  burst  into  the 
room  that  he  did  not  notice  the  scowl  on  his  friend's 
face. 

"Well,  Rod,  the  luck  sometimes  takes  a  long  time 
to  turn,  but — just  got  an  advance  tip  on  Bellew 
Elsing's  will." 

"So  soon?"  asked  Baird. 

"Well,  he's  an  important — "was  an  important  old 
guy.  Six  millions  is  regular  money,  even  in  this 
man's  town.  Tommy  Burnham — owns  the  Despatch, 
you  know — got  the  inside  dope  from  Sminer  &  Mer- 
kle,  the  Elsing  lawyers.  Eileen  gets  a  sixth." 

Baird's  jaw  dropped. 

"A  million?" 

"Maybe  more.     Certainly  not  much  less." 


204  UNEASY  STREET 

Baird  digested  this  information.  A  certain  alarm 
last  night  and  the  newness  of  his  position  to-day 
had  made  him  take  scant  interest  in  the  health  of 
Eileen's  uncle,  though  he  had  been  perfunctorily 
regretful  when  she  had  received  the  telephonic  in- 
formation that  the  old  man  had  had  a  stroke. 

Like  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  he  had  seen  the 
head-lines  in  this  morning's  papers  announcing  the 
death  of  Bellew  Elsing.  Like  a  few  of  those  who 
saw  the  head-lines,  he  had  read  the  newspaper  ac- 
count of  the  dead  man's  upright  life,  his  success  as 
a  merchant,  his  charities,  his  civic  spirit,  and  all  the 
rest  of  it.  But  it  had  not  entered  even  into  a  corner 
of  his  brain  that  Eileen  Elsing  would  share  in  the 
dead  man's  estate. 

Hadn't  Jimmy  Ladd  stated  that  Eileen  had 
broken  with  her  relatives,  that  the  daughters,  her 
cousins,  were  jealous?  And  now  she  had  inherited 
an  approximate  million.  He  felt  conscious  of  irrita- 
tion. By  what  right  did  this  dead  man  reach  out 
his  stilled  hand  and  cast  a  shadow  over  the  life  of 
him,  Rodney  Baird?  For,  if  the  girl  had  a  million — 
Slowly  the  shadow  departed.  With  a  million,  Eileen 
Elsing  could  pick  and  choose.  Blackmar's  wealth 
suddenly  dwindled. 

"It's  money,"  Baird  said  slowly. 

"Yea,  bo !"  agreed  Jimmy.  "I  look  for  friend 
Blackmar  to  take  his  foot  in  his  hand  and  look  for 
the  door." 

"You  don't  like  him?"  said  Baird. 

"I  won't  like  you  such  an  awful  lot  when  you 
marry  Eileen,"  smiled  Jimmy. 


UNEASY  STREET  205 

"But  Blackmar  hasn't  married  her." 

"Well,  his  chances  looked  good  a  while  ago.  But 
now — nix."  He  walked  up  and  down  the  office. 
"Bless  her  heart !  She  deserves  it.  A  game  kid,  if 
there  ever  was  one,  and — I  wonder  how  cousins  Jen- 
nie and  Mabel  are  taking  the  glad  news.  They've 
done  their  darndest  to  down  Eileen,  and  now " 

"Maybe  they'll  contest,"  said  Baird. 

Jimmy's  eyebrows  raised. 

"You  say  that  as  though  you  hoped  that  they 
would." 

Baird  flushed. 

"Well " 

"You're  all  wrong.  Maybe  you  haven't  a  mil- 
lion, but — Eileen  won't  worry.  As  long  as  one  of 

the  contracting  parties  has  it Oh,  well,  I'm  a 

fine  little  match-maker,  eh?  But  contest?  No 
chance."  He  sat  down  and  smoked  a  cigarette. 
"Wish  to  heaven  I  didn't  know  them !" 

"Why?"  Baird  was  frankly  surprised. 

"Funeral.  I  think  Bellew  Elsing  was  a  trump. 
He's  died,  and  he  left  Eileen  a  million,  both  of  which 
acts  tend  to  commend  themselves  to  me,  but — I 
didn't  like  him.  And  now  I'll  have  to  attend  the  last 
rites.  What  savages  we  are,  Rod!  Promise  me — 
when  I  die  I  want  the  gang  to  lift  a  few — if  prohibi- 
tion isn't  the  law — say,  'He  was  a  good  guy  when  he 
had  it,'  and  forget  me.  Don't  you  ever  let  them 
church  me  at  the  finish,  and  sing  songs  over  me 
when  I  can't  fight  back,  and  harrow  the  feelings  of 
my  friends  and  family,  will  you,  boy?" 

Baird  laughed. 


206  UNEASY  STREET 

"I  promise." 

Jimmy  threw  his  cigarette  out  the  window. 

"Come  on  out  to  luncheon,  Rod.  I  want  a  drink 
— forgot  I  was  on  the  wagon.  Oh,  well,  some  food, 
to  take  the  foretaste  of  the  funeral  out  of  my 
mouth." 

It  was  a  most  interesting  luncheon.  Half  a  dozen 
men  stopped  at  the  table  to  shake  hands  with 
Jimmy,  to  be  introduced  to  Baird.  Their  names 
were  household  words  in  America.  Some  of  them 
had  been  born  to  success ;  some  had  achieved  it,  and 
others  had  had  it,  like  Jimmy,  thrust  upon  them. 
Another  score  called  greetings,  waved  friendly 
hands,  went  through  the  pantomime,  across  the  room, 
of  drinking  young  Ladd's  health. 

It  was  a  new  part  of  New  York,  something  that 
Baird  had  not  known  before.  This  down-town  sec- 
tion was  where  the  money  that  was  spent  up-town 
was  made.  Baird  felt  his  shoulders  squaring.  These 
keen-eyed,  clean-featured  young  fellows,  young  mid- 
dle-aged men,  young  oldsters  were  to  furnish  him 
the  competition  that  he  had  always  secretly  dreaded. 
To-day,  he  was  not  afraid  of  them.  In  the  past, 
when  men  like  these  had  come  into  the  offices  of 
Robbins  &  Robbins,  he  had  been  deferential  of  man- 
ner and  timid  of  sou).  But  to-day  it  was  different. 
He  was  no  longer  alien  to  them — a  jealous  book- 
keeper, hopeless  of  ever  lining  up  alongside  them — i 
he  was  of  them;  they  treated  him  with  respect,  as 
the  confidential  associate  of  James  McPherson 
Ladd,  junior.  Soon,  he  prayed,  they  would  treat 


UNEASY  STREET  207 

him  with  consideration  because  of  himself  alone,  not 
because  of  any  association. 

They  were  finishing  their  meal  and  were  squab- 
bling amiably  for  the  check  when  a  hard-featured 
youth  stopped  by  the  table. 

"Hello,  Ladd !"  he  said  effusively. 

He  was  well  groomed,  had  the  air  of  gentility, 
yet  there  was  something  furtive  about  him.  One 
would  have  been  hard  put  to  define  it,  to  place  this 
furtiveness,  but  it  was  there. 

"Hello !"  said  Jimmy  coldly. 

But  the  other  lingered. 

"Got  a  good  thing  in  oil,  Jimmy." 

"Not  to-day,  Gather,"  said  Ladd. 

The  name  made  Baird  prick  up  his  ears.  He  eyed 
the  loiterer.  Back,  over  a  decade,  his  memory 
skipped.  He  remembered  Bob  Gather.  Gather 
hadn't  consorted  with  the  Bairds  of  Linestream,  but 
Baird  remembered  him — and  his  sister  Eleanor. 
He'd  been  talking  about  them  to  Eileen  the  other 
day.  Vaguely,  through  a  haze,  he  remembered  the 
scandal  about  Gather. 

"Don't  I  know  you?"  asked  Gather.  He  thrust 
forward  his  hand. 

Baird  took  it  reluctantly. 

"My  name  is  Baird — Rodney  Baird." 

"Sure — I  remember,"  said  Gather.  "Linestream 
high  school." 

"You  knew  each  other?"  demanded  Ladd. 

"Surest  thing  in  the  world!  Used  to  play  around 
together — marbles,  tops,  all  that  sort  of  thing. 


208  UNEASY  STREET 

Have  a  little  drink,  Baird?"  Gather  was  extremely 
effusive. 

"On  the  wagon,  both  of  us,"  said  Ladd.  "Come 
along,  Rod." 

Outside,  on  Broadway,  he  eyed  Baird  curiously. 

"Know  that  chap  well?" 

**Not  particularly,"  replied  Baird  cautiously. 

"Good  thing.  Crooked  as  a  ram's  horn.  Got  into 
a  scrape  several  years  ago.  Matter  of  using  some 
estate  money.  Father  almost  went  broke  squaring 
him.  From  bad  to  worse.  Cheap  tipster.  Fine 
family,  though.  Used  to  play  with  him,  eh?" 

"Oh,  occasionally,"  said  Baird  idly. 

Somehow,  although  Gather  was  declasse,  it  ap- 
peared that  a  boyhood  association  conferred  some- 
thing on  Baird.  It  was  a  peculiar  world. 


XIX 

STRAIN  had  been  Baird's  portion  for  several 
days,  but  excitement  had  lent  him  strength  to 
endure  it.  But  now,  for  Monday,  Tuesday,  and 
Wednesday,  there  was  no  excitement.  Blackmar 
and  Landers  with  their  covert  threats,  Fannie  Hoi- 
ben  with  her  quite  open  ones  were  strangely  silent 
and  remote.  And  he  could  not  see  Eileen  Elsing. 
At  least,  he  supposed  that  he  could  not.  Of  course, 
he  wrote  her  a  proper  note  of  condolence,  and, 
equally  of  course,  received  no  reply.  And  Jimmy 
did  not  appear  at  the  office  on  the  two  days  suc- 
ceeding a  summons,  as  an  old  family  friend,  to  at- 
tend to  the  management  of  Bellew  Elsing's  funeral. 

Ladd,  senior,  was  courteous  in  the  extreme,  but, 
apparently,  preferred  that  his  son  should  attend  to 
Baird's  instruction  in  his  duties.  So  Baird  was  put 
to  the  extremity  of  finding  work  for  himself.  He 
was  not  able  to  do  this  exactly,  but  Ije  did,  all  files 
and  records  being  open  to  him,  gather,  by  Wednes- 
day afternoon,  a  fairly  comprehensive  digest  of  the 
far-flung  ramifications  »f  th«  Ladd  Jz  Company  in- 
terests. 

In  his  rooms,  he  had  found  no  further  signs  of 
furtive  interest.  If  Grannan  had  been  subsidized 
by  Blackmar,  the  man  gave  no  external  sign.  Cour- 

209 


210  UNEASY  STREET 

teous,  self-effacing,  deft,  and  suave,  he  was  the  per- 
fect servant.  That,  and  nothing  more. 

It  was  a  dull  time  for  Baird.  The  threat  of  ex- 
posure, which  now  he  began  to  realize  would  always 
be  with  him,  bore  on  him.  He  began  to  wish  that 
Blackmar  or  Landers  or  the  Holben  girl  would  do 
something.  A  combat  postponed  looms  more  threat- 
eningly than  one  immediately  at  hand. 

On  Wednesday  afternoon,  Jimmy  Ladd  tele- 
phoned. 

"The  agony  is  all  over,  Rod,"  he  said.  "Not 
coming  down  to  the  office  to-day,  though.  Dine 
with  me?" 

"Sure  thing!" 

"All  right.  I'll  call  for  you  at  your  diggings 
about  seven,  eh?" 

"Suits  me." 

"Will  was  read  to-day.  Burnham's  tip  was  O.  K. 
Eileen  will  have  about  twelve  hundred  thousand." 

"I'm  glad  for  her  sake,"  said  Baird  perfunctorily. 

"Better  be  glad  for  your  own,  boy.  Seven  it  is, 
then."  He  hung  up. 

Baird's  eyes  rested  unseeingly  upon  the  mass  of 
papers  before  him — papers  that  had  to  do  with 
the  proposal  of  certain  Vincennes  persons  with  re- 
gard to  an  interurban  electric  f  reight-and-passenger 
railroad. 

It  was  definitely  established,  then,  that  Eileen  was 
wealthy.  It  sort  of —  Well,  if  a  poor  girl  has  set 
her  mind  on  a  rich  marriage,  will  a  fortune  in  her 
own  right  change  her  ideas  ?  That  was  the  question. 


UNEASY  STREET  211 

And  he  couldn't  solve  it,  of  course.  He  wondered 
when  he  might  decently  telephone  her.  No  reason 
why  he  should  delay  very  long.  It  wasn't  as  though 
Eileen  had  been  Bellew  Elsing's  daughter.  Of 
course,  having  been  treated  so  generously  by  him,  she 
might  feel —  He'd  'phone  her  as  soon  as  he  reached 
his  rooms. 

But  he  did  not.  Grannan,  a  little  more  obse- 
quious than  usual,  met  him  at  his  door.  There  was 
in  the  man's  manner,  despite  his  obsequiousness,  a 
certain  defiance  that  Baird  sensed. 

"Excuse  me,  sir,  Mr.  Baird,  sir,  but,  I  took  a 
great  liberty,  sir." 

"Yes?"  Baird  had  no  reason  for  his  belief  that 
Grannan  had  been  instrumental  in  permitting  some 
one  to  search  his  rooms  last  Sunday.  But  a  bank- 
teller  would  have  difficulty  in  explaining  why  a  cer- 
tain signature  aroused  his  suspicion.  There  are 
senses  beyond  the  five  that  we  know. 

"Yes,  sir."  Grannan  smoothed  his  coat  lapel. 
"The  young  lady  was  so  insistent,  sir." 

Baird  stared  at  the  man.  He  knew  at  once  what 
Grannan  meant,  yet  he  asked, 

"You  mean  that  she's  waiting  inside  for  me?'* 

"Yes,  sir;  I  hope  it's  all  right,  sir." 

Baird  threw  open  the  door  to  his  living-room 
without  answering.  Fannie  Holben,  seated  in  a 
chair,  looking  down  upon  the  teeming  avenue, 
whirled  around.  Baird  carefully  shut  the  door.  He 
locked  it. 

"What  is  the  big  idea?"  she  demanded.     "Never 


212  UNEASY  STREET 

heard  me  scream,  did  you,  Mr.  Baird?  Better  un- 
lock it." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Just  so  that  no  one  can  come  in.  Not  so  that 
you  can't  get  out,  Miss  Holben." 

She  blushed  angrily. 

"Any  time  I  start  playing  that  sort  of  game,  Mr. 
Baird — I  haven't  any  angry  husband  up  my  sleeve, 
and  you  know  it." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  have  up  your  sleeve,  Miss 
Holben.  But  I  hope  to  find  out." 

He  advanced  into  the  room.  Carefully  he  hung 
up  his  overcoat,  smoothing  out  the  sleeves,  rumpled 
by  his  hasty  discarding  of  it.  He  pushed  out  a  dent 
in  his  soft  hat  and  put  it  atop  the  coat.  Then  he 
turned  to  the  girl. 

"Let's  get  down  to  cases  quickly,  Miss  Holben. 
Derriby's  is,  as  you  may  not  know,  a  bachelor  es- 
tablishment." 

"I  know  it.  My  pocketbook  knows  it.  It  felt 
the  strain  of  the  rules  just  now."  She  smiled  im- 
pudently up  at  him. 

"There  is  a  reception-room  down-stairs,"  he  in- 
formed her. 

"I  know  it.    But  I  wanted  this  talk  private." 

"And  you  get  what  you  want.  Suppose  that  we 
make  it  brief  and  final  as  well  as  private,  Miss  Hol- 
ben." 

She  crossed  her  legs  negligently.  She  had  on 
different  shoes  from  those  she  had  worn  in  the 
Tramby.  Also,  there  was  newness  in  her  trig  brown 
dress.  And  the  heavy  furs  above  it,  thrown  open 


UNEASY  STREET  213 

carelessly,  were  not  only  new  but  expensive.  Baird 
stood  silent,  staring  down  upon  her. 

"Just  as  you  say,"  she  retorted;  "I  want  twenty- 
five  thousand  dollars,  and  I  want  it  to-day." 

"A  laudable  ambition.  To  want  money  is  per- 
fectly proper.  May  I  ask  why  you  come  to  me, 
though?" 

"You  may,"  she  told  him,  her  teeth  clicking  over 
the  words.  "You've  asked  before,  but  this  time  I'll 
tell  you.  On  New  Year's  eve,  a  trunk  was  put  in 
your  room.  It  contained  one  hundred  and  five  thou- 
sand dollars.  You  stole  it!" 

Brief  as  the  speech  was,  it  left  her  breathless. 
Her  full  bosom  rose  and  dropped  heavily. 

Well,  they  were  in  the  open  at  last!  The  direct 
charge  had  been  made.  "One  hundred  and  five  thou- 
sand," she  said.  He  caught  himself  as  he  was  about 
to  debate  the  amount.  It  might  be  a  clumsy  trick 
to  win  admission  from  him.  And,  clumsy  as  it  was, 
it  had  almost  succeeded. 

"I  stole  it?"  He  was  elated  with  himself,  because 
his  voice  was  steady,  and  because  he  knew  that  the 
smile  upon  his  lips  would  seem  perfectly  natural  to 
her.  In  fact,  he  felt  like  smiling.  Fight  held  no 
fears  for  him;  suspense  did. 

"Oh,  took  it,  if  you  prefer  the  word,  Mr.  Baird. 
And  I  want  mine." 

"One  hundred  and  five  thousand,  you  said?" 

"A  few  hundred  either  way.  It  doesn't  matter. 
You  give  me  mine,  and  I'll  not  quarrel  over  hun- 
dreds." 

"And  you  don't  mind  telling  me  where  you  ac- 


214  UNEASY  STREET 

quired  this  interesting  misinformation?"  he  asked 
gently. 

"I  picked  it  up.  What  difference  does  it  make 
where  I  got  it,  so  long  as  it's  information,  not  mis- 
inf  ormation  ?" 

"If  it  only  were,"  smiled  Baird.  "But,  Miss  Hoi- 
ben,  if  you've  banked  too  heavily  on  your  'informa- 
tion,' I'm  sorry  for  your  disappointment." 

"Eh?  Don't  weep  for  me  yet,"  she  advised  him 
tartly.  "Suppose  I  check  up  on  you,  Mr.  Baird." 

"Delighted.     May  I  smoke?" 

She  nodded.  Abruptly  she  began  her  "checking 
up." 

"You  were  in  the  Tramby  New  Year's  eve,  Mr. 
Baird.  Later,  you  were  at  the  Central.  You  bor- 
rowed a  hundred  from  Mr.  Ladd  there.  I  saw  you. 
You  paid  him  back  next  day." 

"Sure  of  that?"  he  asked  lightly. 

"Jimmy  Ladd  is  an  open-throat  when  a  woman's 
in  the  game,"  she  said.  "Saturday  night,  dancing 
with  him,  I  got  that  out  of  him." 

"And  the  point  it  makes?"  he  asked. 

"I'll  come  to  that.  Give  me  time.  New  Year's 
day,  you  went  to  Donchester.  Next  day,  you  sold 
some  property  you  had  there.  Get  less  than  two 
thousand  for  it,  I  happen  to  know." 

"Sure  of  that?"  he  inquired. 

"Bob  Gather  went  to  Donchester  for  me  yesterday 
to  make  sure.  He  couldn't  get  the  exact  amount, 
but " 

"Gather?'* 

She  nodded. 


UNEASY  STREET  215 

"I've  seen  him  a  few  times  since  I've  been  over 
here.  He's  one  of  the  old  lunch-room  crowd.  Al- 
ways bragging  about  his  swell  friends.  Wants  peo- 
ple to  think  he  still  belongs,  when  his  very  bragging 
proves  that  he's  out.  But  he  mentioned  having 
met  you  with  Jimmy  Ladd.  I'd  mentioned  Ladd's 
name ;  that's  what  brought  it  up.  Well,  he  told  me 
things  about  you.  Said  you  were  not  in  his  crowd 
when  you  were  kids.  Said  that  you  were  pretty 
hard-up  people.  Well,  I  knew  where  you'd  been 
working  in  Donchester — Robbins  &  Robbins — and  I 
sent  him  to  Donchester.  He  brought  back  the  dope." 

"I  hope  that  he  didn't  charge  you  too  much. 
You  were  rather  hard  up  the  other  day,"  said 
Baird  politely. 

The  girl  colored  again. 

"If  a  girl's  going  to  borrow,  she  might  as  well 
borrow  enough  to  make  it  worth  while.  Frankie 
Landers  bought  these  things.  He's  been  generous. 
But  don't  get  any  wrong  idea " 

"Miss  Holben,  I  haven't  any  ideas  about  you,  ex- 
cept that  you've  made  two  mistakes." 

"  'Two?'  "  she  looked  at  him  blankly. 

"Yes.  One  in  thinking  that  I  stole  a  trunkful  of 
money;  the  other  in  thinking  that  I'd  submit  to 
blackmail,  even  if  I  had." 

"H'm."  She  eyed  him  closely.  "No  mistake  about 
the  first,  Mr.  Baird.  About  the  second — we'll  see. 
Want  to  hear  any  more?" 

His  imitation  of  an  insolent  yawn  was  perfect. 
She  fired  immediately. 


216  UNEASY  STREET 

"Oh,  I  won't  bore  you  much  longer!"  she  cried. 
"I've  got  your  number  all  right.  You're  here,  at 
Derriby's.  You're  spending  money  like  a  drunken 
sailor,  and — I'm  going  to  Frankie  Landers  with 
what  I  know." 

"With  the  tale  that  I  am  stopping  here?"  Baird 
laughed.  "Did  you  know  that  I'm  employed  by 
Ladd  &  Company?  That  with  something  under  two 
thousand  a  man  could  live  a  while  here  at  Der- 
riby's?" 

"Yes;  but  he  couldn't  buy  thirty-five-hundred- 
dollar  pins  out  of  that  two  thousand!"  she  cried. 
"Oh,  I'm  not  easily  fooled,  Mr.  Baird.  I  know  what 
I  know.  That  trunk  was  put  in  your  room.  Frankie 
Landers  is  willing  to  believe  that  some  one  else 
sneaked  it  out  of  that  room,  but — not  with  you 
buying  diamond  pins.  I  won't  believe  it's  anyone 
else." 

"Quite  certain  that  I'm  doing  that  sort  of  thing?" 

"Jimmy  Ladd  mentioned  it  when  I  admired  Miss 
Elsing's  pin,"  she  retorted. 

Baird's  estimate  of  Jimmy  Ladd  was  quite  un- 
favorable at  the  moment.  Still,  why  shouldn't  Ladd 
have  mentioned  it?  Ladd  didn't  know  the  thinness, 
the  rottenness  of  the  ice  on  which  Baird  skated. 

"All  the  evidence  in,  Miss  Holben?"  he  asked. 

"Isn't  it  enough?"  she  demanded.  "You  haven't 
any  money  of  your  own.  You  begin  to  splurge  right 
after  a  fortune  is  left  in  your  room.  Begin  paying 
debts,  buying  diamonds " 

Baird  laughed. 


UNEASY  STREET  217 

"I  suppose  you  could  tell  me  how  that  money  hap- 
pened to  be  left  there." 

"I  could,  but  I  won't,"  she  snapped.  "All  I'm  in- 
terested in  is  'mine.'  Do  I  get  it?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Sorry.  I  have  such  silly  prejudices,  you  know. 
Blackmail  is  one  of  them." 

"Theft  isn't,  though,  eh?"  she  countered. 

"Don't  know,  I'm  sure.  Never  had  the  oppor- 
tunity." 

She  rose  abruptly. 

"All  right;  we  won't  argue  it.  I'm  going  to 
Frankie  Landers — now!" 

Blazing-eyed,  she  started  past  him.  A  knock 
sounded  on  the  door. 

"Hello,  Rod?     In?" 

It  was  Jimmy  Ladd's  voice.  The  girl,  appar- 
ently, was  more  alarmed  than  was  Baird.  She 
pointed  silently  toward  his  bedroom  door.  Her 
lips  moved;  whisperingly  she  said: 

"Let  me  in  there.     Till  he  goes." 

Baird's  brows  drew  together.  Why  she  should 
mind  being  found  in  his  rooms  by  Jimmy  Ladd  he 
couldn't  understand.  Maidenly  modesty  was  a  bit 

too  far-fetched. Nevertheless,  her  whim  coincided 

with  his  own  desire.  He  nodded  assent.  She  tip- 
toed to  the  bedroom  door. 

"Right  with  you,  Jimmy!"  he  called. 

He  seized  his  hat  and  coat  and  went  into  the  hall. 
Ladd  was  leaning  against  the  banister,  cheerfully 
smoking. 


218  UNEASY  STREET 

"Ready  ?"  he  asked.    "Any  special  place  you  want 
to  dine?" 

"Ready  and  not  particular,"  said  Baird. 
"Fine !"  said  Jimmy.    "Orlanno's,  then." 


XX 


npHROUGH  a  daze  floated  the  unctuous  words  of 
A  Judge  Sminer:  "One-sixth  to  my  beloved  niece, 
Eileen  Elsing " 

It  was  incredible!  Uncle  Bellew  had  never  inti- 
mated, by  the  faintest  hint,  that  she  was  to 
share — 

She  had  almost  been  dozing.  Unwilling  as  were 
the  daughters  of  Bellew  Elsing  to  let  Eileen  man- 
age matters,  nevertheless  they  were  equally  unwill- 
ing for  Eileen  to  absent  herself.  She  must  be  with 
them  every  moment,  listening  to  their  self-pitying 
lamentations  on  their  loss. 

It  had  been  a  distasteful  duty,  staying  by  the 
bereaved  family.  Especially  was  it  distasteful  be- 
cause, from  the  moment  that  the  grave  physicians 
had  pronounced  the  old  man  dead,  there  had  been 
in  the  manners  of  Mabel  and  Jennie  an  intimation 
that  Eileen  was  an  interloper. 

Yet,  when  she  had  endeavored  to  go  home  for  a 
while,  they  had  indignantly  accused  her  of  being 
heartless,  had  sent  a  servant  for  clothing  and  other 
things,  had  insisted  that  Eileen  remain.  And,  al- 
though there  was  no  reason  why  she  should  attend 
the  reading  of  the  will,  Judge  Sminer  had  been 
quite  urgent  in  his  request  that  she  join  the  rest 

219 


220  UNEASY  STREET 

of  the  family  in  the  gloomy  dining-room  of  the 
Elsing  mansion. 

And  Bellew  Elsing  had  left  her  one-sixth  of  his 
estate!  One-half  had  gone  to  his  widow,  and  the 
other  half  had  been  equally  divided  between  his  two 
daughters  and  his  niece.  It  was  incredible,  but — a 
fact!  For  the  judge  was  rereading  the  clause 
again. 

She  lifted  her  eyes  and  looked  about  her.  To  her 
great  amazement,  Mabel  and  Jennie  were  smiling  at 
her. 

Half  an  hour  later,  walking  down  Fifth  Avenue — 
the  Bellew  home,  on  East  Seventieth  Street,  was 
not  too  far  from  her  apartment,  and  she  had  re- 
fused a  car — she  marveled  on  the  strange  thing 
called  human  nature. 

"I'm  delighted,"  Mabel  Elsing  had  said,  and  her 
sister  Jennie  had  echoed  her. 

"Of  course,  if  papa  hadn't  done  it We're 

hogs,  all  of  us,  Eileen.  Thank  heaven,  though, 
neither  Jennie  nor  I  are  so  porcine  that  we  regret 
father's  doing  the  right  thing.  We'd  never  have 
done  it  ourselves,  but — you  won't  have  to  marry 
Sam  Blackmar,  Eileen,  and  we're  glad!" 

One  letter  among  the  little  pile  of  mail  that  had 
accumulated  at  her  home  during  the  past  three  days 
attracted  Eileen.  She  did  not  recognize  the  writ- 
ing, but  she  knew  whose  it  was  at  once.  She  put  it 
aside  and  opened  the  others. 

Aside  from  three  or  four  notes  of  invitation  and  a 
bill,  they  were  formal  messages  of  condolence — save 


UNEASY  STREET  221 

one.  That  was  from  Blackmar.  She  read  it;  her 
eyes  narrowed.  It,  too,  expressed  sorrow  for  the 
loss  of  her  uncle.  But  it  spoke  of  seeing  her  soon, 
and  its  expression  was  intimate.  It  was  as  though 
her  loss  was  also  his.  Ten  days  ago,  she  would  not 
have  resented  this,  but  just  now  she  did.  By  what 
right  did  he  assume  so  much?  Yet  he  had  assumed 
much  in  the  past  and  she  had  not  rebuked  him.  An 
assumption  unopposed  becomes  a  right. 

She  picked  up  Baird's  note,  and  suddenly  became 
conscious  of  the  fact  that  her  lips  held  a  smile. 
She  ironed  them  out,  blushing.  Captain  Baird  might 
be  swift,  but  she  preferred  to  go  slow.  But — <lid 
she?  She  felt  warm  all  over.  The  blush  that,  un- 
bidden, had  begun  at  her  cheeks  stole  down  her 
throat  and  bosom. 

Marriage,  up  till  now,  had  seemed  to  her  nothing 
much  more  than  the  changing  of  her  name  and  the 
opening  of  a  bank-account.  Romance  had  never 
stirred  her.  Marriage  had  seemed  the  surrendering 
of  a  restricted  sort  of  liberty  and  the  acquisition  of 
a  more  complete  freedom.  For,  certainly,  married 
women  were  much  freer  than  the  single  women  of 
her  acquaintance. 

But  marriage  for  the  mere  sake  of  marriage — 
Until  within  the  past  few  days,  such  a  marriage 
had  not  occurred  to  her.  Marriage  was  a  means  to 
an  end.  Sometimes  the  end — as  in  her  own  case  she 
guiltily  admitted — was  monetary;  sometimes  it  had 
to  do  with  position;  she  even  knew  girls  who  had 
married  to  get  away  from  their  homes. 

But  now,  with  a  fortune  awaiting  her,  she  read 


222  UNEASY  STREET 

Baird's  letter.  It  had  in  it  nothing  of  the  possessive 
quality  that  had  irritated  her  when  she  read  Black- 
mar's  note.  It  was  extremely  formal,  quite  correct. 

Yet  she  caught  herself  lifting  the  paper  to  her 
lips.  Her  blush  grew  deeper.  She  tossed  the  letter 
from  her.  She  was  no  schoolgirl  surreptitiously 
devouring  a  note  from  the  sophomore  in  the  college 
near  by.  She  was  a  woman,  and  womanhood  meant 
common-sense. 

Who  was  this  man  Baird?  After  all,  she  must 
not  forget  that  Blackmar  had  intimated  strongly 
that  there  was  something  shady  about  this  new  pal 
of  Jimmy  Ladd's,  this  new  addition  to  the  firm  of 
Ladd  &  Company. 

She  was  weary,  dog-tired,  when  she  went  into  the 
dining-room,  called  thither  by  Mrs.  Kelton. 

The  little  table  was  heavy  with  flowers.  She  sat 
down  opposite  her  chaperon  and  summoned  a  smile 
to  a  face  grown  suddenly  wan.  It  was  pleasant  to 
be  home  again.  It  was  pleasant  to  have  opposite 
one  a  person  to  whom  one's  word  was  law,  in  whose 
eyes  one  could  be  nothing  save  perfection.  She 
wondered  if  a  husband's  eyes  would  hold  as  satisfy- 
ing an  expression  as  that  which  brightened  the 
glance  of  Mrs.  Kelton. 

The  dinner  was  delicious.  Eileen  made  a  tremen- 
dous effort  to  eat.  But  the  effort  was  apparent. 
Mrs.  Kelton,  however,  was  one  of  those  rare  indi- 
viduals who,  when  they  are  trying  to  please  some 
one  else,  are  not  trying  to  please  themselves. 

It  mattered  not  that  she  and  Myra,  the  colored 
maid  of  all  work,  had  spent  most  of  the  day  in  pre- 


UNEASY  STREET  223 

paring  this  dinner.  Mrs.  Kelton  was  not  the  sort 
who  will  kill  with  kindness,  and  do  so  with  pride- 
ful  rectitude.  She  rose  with  the  salad  and  came 
round  to  Eileen. 

"You  darling  little  girl !"  she  crooned.  "I  should 
have  known  that  you  are  all  worn  out,  and —  Don't 
cry,  dearest!" 

"I — I — m-must,"  sobbed  Eileen.  "Uncle  Bellew 
left  m-me  a  m-million  dollars,  and  I  th-think  C-Cap- 
tain  B-Baird  is  in  1-love  with  me,  and " 

She  stopped  suddenly.  But  Mrs.  Kelton  was  a 
wise  old  lady  who  had  been  in  love  herself,  who  had 
had  doubts,  self-distrust,  dismay,  and  glowing  de- 
light all  in  the  same  moment.  Gently  she  led  Eileen 
to  her  bedroom.  Herself  she  prepared  the  warm 
bath,  shook  into  it  the  requisite  amounts  of  salts, 
and  turned  down  the  covers  of  the  bed. 

She  sat  by  Eileen's  bedside,  asking  no  confidences, 
saying  nothing,  but  smoothing  the  young  girl's  fore- 
head with  a  soft  hand.  Slowly  Eileen  floated  away 
into  half-slumber.  Vaguely  she  heard  the  bell  ring, 
noticed  that  Mrs.  Kelton's  stroking  fingers  ceased 
their  movement  across  her  forehead.  But,  if  Fan- 
nie Holben's  voice  had  been  less  penetratingly  sharp, 
or  had  it  been  raised  a  moment  later,  Eileen  would 
not  have  heard  it. 

As  it  was,  she  raised  herself  on  one  elbow  and 
turned  her  head  toward  the  opened  bedroom  door. 

"I  tell  you,  I've  got  to  see  Miss  Elsing,  and  I'm 
going  to !"  she  heard  a  voice  say.  She  recognized 
it  at  once  as  belonging  to  the  girl  whom  she  had 
met  last  Saturday  night  at  the  Maison  d'Or,  the 


224  UNEASY  STREET 

girl  who  danced  so  much  with  Jimmy,  and  against 
whom  she  had  warned  Baird.  Exhaustion  left  her 
at  once.  Her  feet  swung  to  the  floor  and  found  a 
pair  of  slippers.  She  drew  a  dressing-gown  about 
her. 

"I'll  see  Miss  Holben,"  she  caUed. 

"Alone,"  said  Fannie,  as  Eileen  entered  the  liv- 
ing-room. 

With  a  shrug,  Eileen  glanced  at  Mrs.  Kelton. 
That  lady  left  the  room. 


XXI 

ELEEN,  drawing  her  intimate  robe  about  her, 
sensed  at  once  not  only  her  disadvantage  but 
the  fact  that  Fannie  Holben  was  an  opponent.  She 
promptly  sat  down,  obeying  that  instinctive  impulse 
which  arises  from  our  belief  that  one  seated  is  in 
the  position  of  giving  orders  to  one  standing.  It  is 
a  belief  founded  upon  historical  fact.  Kings  re- 
main seated  while  courtiers  stand  around. 

"You  wished  to  see  me?"  she  asked.  There  was 
in  her  voice  a  cool  insolence  that  brought  the  red 
to  the  other  girl's  cheeks.  Uninvited,  Fannie  sat 
down. 

"Maybe  you  want  to  see  me,"  she  countered.  Her 
voice  was  intentionally  rude. 

Eileen's  eyebrows  lifted. 

"I  was  not  aware  of  the  wish,"  she  said. 

Anger  blazed  in  Fannie's  eyes.  She  had  been  con- 
scious of  her  advantage  when  Eileen,  sleepy-eyed, 
had  entered  the  room.  Now,  in  some  fashion  un- 
known to  her,  Eileen  had  taken  command  of  the 
situation.  Fannie  had  come  to  make  demands;  un- 
easiness possessed  her  already. 

"You'll  be  glad  I  came  before  I  leave,"  she  told 
Eileen.  Eileen  folded  her  hands  on  her  lap.  The 
placidity  of  the  action  angered  the  visitor  still 

225 


226  UNEASY  STREET 

more.  "Maybe  you  think  we've  nothing  in  com- 
mon," she  almost  shouted. 

"I  am  sure  of  it,"  said  Eileen. 

"All  right;  listen  to  me,"  said  Fannie:  "Suppose 
I  tell  you  I  can  put  Rodney  Baird  in  jail?" 

"Are  you  telling  me  that?"  asked  Eileen. 

"You  heard  me." 

Eileen's  color  heightened  the  least  bit. 

"Is  that  all  you  wished  to  say?" 

"It's  enough,  ain't  it?"  snapped  Fannie. 

"Too  much.  I  couldn't  imagine  that  you  could 
possibly  have  anything  to  tell  me  that  mattered; 
I  can't  imagine  it  now.  Is  that  all,  you  are  quite 
sure?" 

This  was  not  what  Fannie  had  come  for.  She 
was  perfectly  willing  to  anger  Eileen,  but — she 
wanted  money.  Baird  had  refused  it.  But  Eileen 
was  in  love  with  Baird — so  Ladd  had  intimated. 
Jimmy  Ladd  had  said  that  she'd  been  practically 
engaged  to  Blackmar  until  Baird  had  come  along  a 
few  days  ago. 

"Oh,  I  don't  suppose  that  you're  interested  in 
how  I  can  do  it,"  said  Fannie. 

"Not  in  the  least,"  said  Eileen. 

Fannie  was  dazed.  She  had  looked  for  some  wild 
outburst  of  indignant  denial  that  Baird  could  do 
anything  wrong.  If  this  girl  were  in  love  with 
Baird,  that  would  be  her  normal  attitude,  Fannie 
thought.  But  here  was  total  disinterestedness.  For 
Fannie  was  used  to  people  whose  emotions  were  un- 
veiled. Had  she  been  accustomed  to  Eileen's  sort 


UNEASY  STREET  227 

of  people,  she  would  have  known  that  the  very  calm 
of  Eileen  meant  terrific  tension. 

She  stirred  uneasily.  Her  hope  had  been  that 
Eileen  would  immediately  telephone  Baird,  asking 
him  to  deny  this  base  accusation.  Then  Baird  would 
know  that  Fannie  meant  business,  and  an  arrange- 
ment would  be  very  simple. 

But  here  was,  as  Fannie  saw  Eileen,  no  love-lorn 
young  woman,  overcome  at  the  threat  of  jail  for 
her  lover.  Here  was  a  young  woman  who  seemed 
annoyed,  bored,  at  an  intrusion.  And  that  was 
all. 

Fannie  rose  to  her  feet.  She  flounced  indignantly 
across  the  room.  Without  a  word,  she  walked  out. 

The  Plaza,  half  a  block  away,  invited  her.  She 
entered  and  called  up  Baird.  He  was  in,  and  an- 
swered at  once. 

"This  is  Fannie  Holben.  I've  been  to  see  Miss 
Elsing.  I've  told  her  about  you,  Mr.  Baird.  But 
I  haven't  told  her  much.  I  can  square  it.  Will 
you  come  across  now?" 

Baird's  laugh  was  pleasant. 

"Sorry,  Miss  Holben.  I  don't  understand  you 
yet.  Miss  Elsing  just  telephoned  of  your  call.  She 
is  rather  annoyed,  though.  I'm  afraid  that  I'll 
begin  to  be  annoyed  soon.  You'd  better  stop  it. 
And  your  friend  Mr.  Landers  also  called  up.  Seems 
that  he  knew  you  were  in  my  rooms." 

"Did  Mr.  Ladd  tell  him?  Did  he  know  I  was 
there?"  she  asked. 

"That  why  you  were  frightened  at  Jimmy's  call- 
ing? No,  indeed.  It  seems  that  Mr.  Landers  takes 


228  UNEASY  STREET 

a  quaint  interest  in  me,  too.  Better  think  up  a 
good  story  for  him,  Miss  Holben." 

She  almost  choked.  Virtue  was  certainly  in 
wrong  to-night.  Legitimately,  she'd  demanded  of 
Baird  a  piece  of  his  illicit  profit,  and  he'd  turned 
her  down.  She'd  gone  to  his  sweetheart,  as  she 
termed  Eileen,  expecting  to  be  able  to  get  her  so 
excited  that  Baird  would  come  to  time;  and  the 
best  she  had  ahead  of  her  was  a  "bawling-out" 
from  Landers  for  going  to  a  man's  rooms. 

"  'Good  story!'    I'll  tell  him  the  truth." 

"And  let  him  think  that  you  were  willing  and 
anxious  to  trim  him?  I  hardly  think  so,  Miss 
Holben." 

Baird's  laugh  was  again  pleasant  as  he  hung  up 
the  telephone. 

It  was  the  truth.  She  had  tried  to  double-cross 
Frankie,  and  she'd  better  do  as  Baird  suggested — 
think  up  a  story  to  placate  her  jealous  suitor. 
She  slumped  into  a  chair  in  the  hotel  corridor 
while  she  set  her  mind  to  work. 

But  back  in  his  rooms  at  Derriby's  Baird  was 
in  little  better  mental  plight.  Eileen  had  telephoned 
him.  She  had  been  annoyed;  but  beneath  her  an- 
noyance he  read  something  else.  It  was  as  though 
the  annoyance  was  feigned,  a  pretense  behind  which 
she  hid  something  else.  That  something  else  was 
jealousy,  he  honestly  believed.  Jealousy  of  Fannie 
Holben.  And  what  bothered  him  was  that  he  could 
not  think  of  words  wherewith  to  remove  the  jealousy 
that  would  not  also  lead  to  confession  of  the  truth. 

Eileen — any  woman,  indeed — would  be  willing  to 


UNEASY  STREET  229 

believe  that  Fannie's  visit  and  threats  were  due  to 
jealousy  at  Baird's  attentions  to  Eileen.  If  this 
were  the  end  of  Fannie's  efforts  to  gain  money  from 
him,  he  could  take  a  chance,  assure  Eileen  that  the 
girl  had  misinterpreted  his  attitude,  was  jealous. 
That  is,  if  he  wanted  to  lie.  And  he  didn't  want 
to  lie — not  to  Eileen.  But  if  he  didn't  tell  her 
some  such  story,  what  would  he  tell  her? 

Why  hadn't  he  paid  Fannie  what  she  demanded? 
But  he  shook  his  head.  No,  sir!  He'd  taken  all  of 
that  money  that  he  intended  to  take.  He  was  go- 
ing to  begin  replacing  it  from  his  salary  now,  not 
make  further  inroads  into  it.  He'd  not  be  black- 
mailed. He'd  assured  himself  of  this  before,  and 
he  assured  himself  of  it  now.  He  meant  it.  At 
least,  he  thought  he  meant  it. 


xxn 

BAIRD  had  been  quiet   during  their  dinner   at 
Orlanno's.     Too    tactful    to    make    inquiries, 
Jimmy  accepted  Baird's  statement  that  he  had  a 
headache,  and  had  offered  no  objection  when  Baird 
had  begged  off  from  attending  a  theater. 

But  he  could  not  emulate  Baird's  example  and  go 
home.  He'd  been  through  three  days  of  arranging 
for  a  funeral  and  carrying  through  the  arrange- 
ments. It  was,  he  told  himself,  his  night  to  howl. 

The  performance  for  which  he  had  procured  two 
seats  bored  him.  The  prima  donna  couldn't  sing ;  he 
was  sick  to  death  of  ballroom  dancers,  and  the 
chorus-girls  were  not  any  too  easy  on  the  eye. 

"And  I  wish  to  goodness  that  the  comedians  would 
lay  off  the  prohibition  jokes,"  he  muttered,  as,  at 
the  end  of  the  first  act,  he  fought  his  way  out  into 
the  lobby  and  street. 

He  crossed  Forty-second  Street  and  walked  up 
Fifth  Avenue.  Merely  for  the  satisfaction  of  look- 
ing at  people  he  entered  the  Plaza.  He  came 
through  the  revolving  door  just  as  Fannie  Holben 
was  wearily  arising  from  the  seat  upon  which  she 
had  slumped  after  telephoning  Baird.  Jimmy  was 
before  her,  beaming,  before  she  was  standing  up- 
right. 

230 


UNEASY  STREET  231 

"  'God's  in  his  heaven,  all's  well  with  the  world,' " 
he  announced. 

He  drew  her  left  hand  inside  his  right  arm;  he 
patted  her  fingers  into  place. 

"This  is  no  place  for  a  gent  and  lady  on  pleasure 
bent,"  he  declared.  "Not  now.  An  hour  from  now, 
when  the  grill  is  packed,  yes.  But,  meantime  whither 
do  we  wend  our  blithesome  way,  Miss  Holben?" 

"You  may  take  me  home,"  she  told  him. 

"'Home?'  Of  course.  Later.  Meanwhile " 

He  released  her  hand  long  enough  to  impel  her 
gently  through  the  revolving  door.  He  held  up  his 
hand.  The  taxi-starter  immediately  blew  his  whis- 
tle; a  car  drew  up  before  them  at  once,  and  Fannie 
found  herself  inside  it  before  she  could  protest. 
Jimmy  spoke  the  name  of  a  well-known  restaurant 
to  the  chauffeur. 

"Looka  here,  Mr.  Ladd,"  said  Fannie,  as  they 
bumped  over  the  uneven  pavement  of  Fifty-ninth 
Street:  "I  didn't  say  that  I'd  go  anywhere  with 
you." 

"I'd  hardly  expect  you  to — so  soon,"  grinned 
Jimmy.  "After  you  know  me  better  and  have 

learned  to  love  me Who  kept  you  waiting  so 

long  in  the  Plaza?" 

"Huh?  Any  time  I  wait  round  for  anyone — I 
stepped  in  to  telephone.  Then  I  was  going 
home " 

"Glad  you  put  it  in  the  imperfect  tense,"  he  in- 
terrupted. "We  will  not  make  it  perfect.  I'm  a 
lonesome  man.  Will  you  dance  the  evening  hours 
away  with  me,  for  sweet  charity's  sake?" 


232  UNEASY  STREET 

She  eyed  Lacld  speculatively.  He  had  seemed, 
the  other  night,  to  be  genuinely  attracted  to  her. 
He  was  a  millionaire.  He  was  young.  He  was 
good-looking,  too.  Jolly,  also.  Open-handed.  Her 
smile  was  as  warmly  encouraging  as  she  could  man- 
age as  she  said: 

"I'll  tell  the  world  I'll  dance  with  you,  Mr.  Ladd. 
It'll  cheer  me  up,  too.  I'm  awful  blue." 

"So?  We  will  kill  lonesomeness  and  the  blues 
with  one  wallop,"  grinned  Jimmy.  "It's  a  wonder- 
ful thing,  isn't  it?" 

"What?"  she  demanded. 

"Fate,  destiny,  whatever  you  want  to  call  it. 
Long  before  either  of  us  were  born,  it  was  written 
down  that  on  this  Wednesday  night  you'd  be  blue 
and  I'd  be  lonesome,  that  we'd  meet,  dance  to- 
gether  " 

"You're  a  great  josher,  ain't  you?"  she  laughed. 
A  lurch  of  the  taxi  threw  her  close  to  him!  she  did 
not  withdraw. 

The  restaurant  had  its  usual  crowd,  but  there  was 
room  on  the  dance-floor.  They  entered  second-floor 
room  in  the  middle  of  an  encore.  They  finished  the 
one-step  before  permitting  the  head  waiter  to  guide 
them  to  a  table. 

"Some  champagne — no;  what  are  you  drinking?" 
the  girl  asked. 

Jimmy  shrugged. 

"Ginger  ale,"  he  confessed. 

She  nodded  approvingly. 

"I  remember  that  you're  off  the  stuff.  Ginger  ale 
for  me,  too." 


UNEASY  STREET  233 

The  waiter  departed.  He  didn't  mind  their  or- 
der. There  was  something  about  Jimmy  Ladd  that 
inspired  waiters  with  confidence ;  their  remuneration, 
they  knew,  would  depend  upon  the  quality  of  their 
service  more  than  upon  the  amount  of  the  check. 
The  waiter  served  the  ginger  ale  with  as  much  flour- 
ish as  he  ordinarily  used  in  uncorking  champagne. 

The  couple  came  back  hot  and  thirsty  from  the 
next  dance.  Jimmy  gulped  his  drink. 

"I'm  here  to  state  that  this  is  far  better  than 
being  at  home,"  he  declared. 

"It's  a  lot  better,"  admitted  Fannie. 

Jimmy  nodded  approvingly. 

"I  told  you  that  it  wouldn't  take  me  long.  Have 
you  begun  to  love  me  already?" 

The  girl  pursed  her  lips. 

"I'm  not  sure  that  it  would  be  very  hard,"  she 
told  him. 

"Eh?"  Conceit  was  not  in  the  heart  of  Jimmy 
Ladd.  He  raised  a  warning  finger.  "Don't  you 
lure  me,  woman ;  don't  you  lure  me.  I'll  tell  Frankie 
Landers  on  you." 

She  shrugged. 

"Suit  yourself.  But  what  Frankie  doesn't  know 
won't  bother  him." 

Jimmy  lighted  a  cigarette.  He  eyed  her  care- 
fully. In  her  eyes,  that  met  his  squarely,  he  thought 
he  read  a  hint  of  desperation.  His  own  eyes  grew 
suddenly  kindly. 

"You  really  have  been  blue,  haven't  you? 
What's  wrong?  Could  I  help?" 

"Men   always   want   to   help,   don't   they?"    she 


234  UNEASY  STREET 

sneered.  "Their  idea  of  helping  usually  means——5' 
She  paused  abruptly. 

"Yes?     What  does  it  mean?"  he  asked. 

She  shrugged. 

"You  know.  I  don't  need  to  spell  it  out  for  you. 
Let's  dance." 

But  he  shook  his  head. 

"Wait  a  bit!     What's  wrong?" 

She  sank  back  in  the  chair  from  which  she  had 
risen. 

"  'Wrong?'  "  she  echoed.  "Suppose  that  you  had 
ambition,  and  some  talent,  too,  and  only  needed 
money  to  get  along?  How  would  you  feel?" 

"Like  getting  hold  of  some  money,"  he  replied. 

"That's  what  I  feel  like.  And  suppose  the  only 
way  you  could  get  that  money  was  by  marrying  ^ 
man  you  didn't  want  to  marry,  and  if  you  did  marry 
him,  you'd  have  to  give  up  your  ambition,  anyway 
— well,  what  then?" 

"Search  me,"  said  Jimmy.  "That  how  it  is  with 
you?" 

"You  said  it." 

"Hm."  He  cast  a  quick  glance  at  her.  "Lan- 
ders?" 

She  nodded. 

"Make  a  good  husband,"  he  said. 

"I  don't  want  one,"  she  retorted. 

"Better  terms  than  lots  of  men  would  offer,"  he 
stated. 

She  reddened. 

"I  suppose  you  think  that  I  couldn't  get  plenty 
of  men  to  marry  me  if  I'd  let  'em !" 


UNEASY  STREET  235 

"I  didn't  say  that.  I'm  thinking  in  terms  of 
Broadway.  Which  is  most  important,  money  or 
ambition?  I  mean,  are  you  ambitious  for  money 
only?  Landers  has  plenty  of  that." 

"Don't  I  know  it  well  enough?  I'm  thinking  of 
— if  I  don't  pay  Frankie  Landers  back  twenty-five 
hundred  dollars  in  about  three  weeks,  I've  got  to 
marry  him." 

There!  She  had  blurted  out  what  had  been  in 
the  back  of  her  mind  since  the  moment  in  the  taxi 
when  she  had  consented  to  go  with  him.  She 
dropped  her  hands  from  her  chin  and  stared,  some- 
thing of  defiance  in  her  glance  now,  at  her  com- 
panion. 

Ladd  stared,  too. 

"You  can't  pay  the  money,  and  you  don't  want 
the  alternative,  eh?"  he  said. 

"I'll  say  so,"  she  said.  Her  attempt  at  lightness 
of  tone  was  almost  pathetic.  At  least,  it  was  so 
to  Jimmy  Ladd.  After  all,  she  was  an  amusing  sort, 
and  she  was  good-looking. 

"Twenty-five  hundred  isn't  such  an  awful  lot,"  he 
said. 

"It  is  when  you  haven't  got  it,"  she  retorted. 

"I  suppose  so.  And — er — I  take  it  that  you're 
not  telling  me  this  for  the  fun  of  talking." 

"I  guess  you  can  see  through  an  open  window," 
she  answered. 

"But  Lander  had  security  for  his  loan,"  he 
hinted. 

"Well?"     She  tried  to  keep  her  voice  steady  and 


236  UNEASY  STREET 

succeeded.  But  the  hands  that  rested  on  the  table 
trembled. 

"What  security  would  I  get  for  my  loan?"  he 
asked. 

"You  wouldn't  want  the  same  as  Landers,"  she 
evaded. 

Jimmy  laughed. 

"Considering  that  I  never  intend  to  be  married 
—no." 

She  echoed  his  laugh,  a  harsher  echo. 

"That's  what  I  said  a  while  ago — men's  ideas 
of  helping  are —  Oh,  well,  you  wouldn't  lend  me 
the  money,  then?" 

"Have  I  refused?"  he  asked. 

"You  haven't  said  you  would." 

"But  I  might,"  he  grinned. 

Her  plump  face  had  been  red,  but  now  it  was 
white. 

"Honest — Frankie  is  a  good  guy;  but — marriage 
— I  don't  want  it.  And  if  I  don't  settle  with  him, 
he'll  keep  me  off  the  stage.  Oh,  he  can,  all  right. 
He's  got  a  pull  like  a  truck  on  low.  And  I  could 
make  good — but  what's  the  use?  It  takes  forever 
unless  you've  got  some  money —  Will  you  give  me 
the  twenty-five  hundred?" 

"  'Give?'    I  thought  you  wanted  a  loan." 

But  she  had  made  a  decision,  and  not  so  sud- 
denly as  it  might  have  seemed  to  an  auditor. 

She  had  tried  definitely  to  blackmail  Baird.  She 
had  failed.  She  might  manage  to  wreak  some  sort 
of  vengeance  on  Baird,  but  that  she  might  get  money 


UNEASY  STREET  237 

from  him — one  failure  was  sufficient  to  render  her 
hopeless  of  success. 

She  must  marry  Landers,  go  back  to  waiting  on 
table,  or — the  third  alternative  presented  itself  in 
the  person  of  Jimmy  Ladd.  There  had  been  other 
men  who  would  have  gladly  been  such  an  alternative 
as  Jimmy  was  now,  but — the  time  and  the  need  had 
not  coincided.  That  virtue  on  which  she  had  prided 
herself,  she  suddenly  realized,  was  no  rock,  proof 
against  any  assault.  It  was  yielding  itself  easily,, 
but — what  difference  did  it  make?  Moreover, 
Jimmy  Ladd  was  no  ogre. 

He  was  smiling  at  her  now.  The  faint  mist  thai 
had  clouded  her  vision  vanished.  She  shrugged. 

"What  difference  does  it  make  what  we  call  it? 
Do  I  get  it?" 

"Where  are  you  living?"  he  asked. 

Wonderingly,  she  named  a  cheap  hotel  on  Sev- 
enth Avenue. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"It  won't  do.  No  sort  of  a  place  at  all.  Can't 
you  find  yourself  a  decent  furnished  apartment? 
To-morrow?" 

She  nodded. 

"Do  it,"  he  said. 

They  were  in  a  corner  of  the  room.  It  was 
quite  easy  for  him  to  draw  a  fountain  pen  and 
check-book  from  his  pocket  and  scribble  some  lines 
without  being  seen.  He  handed  the  pink  slip  of 
paper  to  her.  Her  eyes  widened. 

"This  is  five  thousand,"  she  whispered, 

"Oh,  well."     He  laughed.     "The  apartment  will 


238  UNEASY  STREET 

cost  something,  and  you  probably  need  some  clothes. 
What's  money  between — friends?" 

He  did  not  offer  to  see  her  home — merely  put  her 
in  a  taxi  a  little  later,  giving  the  chauffeur  her 
address  and  a  bill. 

"  'Phone  me  at  the  office  to-morrow  anji  let  me 
know  where  you're  living.  I'll  be  up  to-morrow 
night." 

"Aren't  you — how  do  you  know — I  might  cash 
this  check — and  not — 'phone  you,"  she  said,  un- 
steadily. 

He  laughed  easily. 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  so.  You  were  pretty  worried 
about  keeping  your  word  to  Landers,  but  I  guess 
that  you  were  going  to.  I'm  certainly  as  well  worth 
keeping  a  promise  to  as  he,  eh?" 

For  answer,  she  leaned  forward  swiftly  and  kissed 
him. 

He  drew  his  coat  closer  about  him  as  the  taxi  sped 
away.  Then  he  chuckled  as  he  started  home. 


XXIII 

IT  was  nearly  noon  on  Thursday  morning  when 
Eileen  awoke.  She'd  had  a  miserable  night  of 
it.  Two  and  two  make  four.  Blackmar  had  inti- 
mated things  against  Baird,  and  Fannie  Holben  had 
stated  that  she  could  put  the  young  man  in  jail. 
Of  course,  Blackmar's  insinuations  might  readily  be 
accounted  for  by  jealousy  of  Baird.  Fannie  Hoi- 
ben's  threat  might  be  laid  to  jealousy  of  Eileen.  At 
all  events,  these  things  were  unpleasant. 

More  than  once  she  had  sat  up  in  bed,  with  the 
intention  of  telephoning  Baird  again.  Once  she  had 
even  taken  the  receiver  from  the  telephone  hook. 
But  only  to  hang  it  up.  She'd  'phoned  him  once 
and  told  him  that  Fannie  Holben  had  called  upon 
her  and  made  threats  against  him.  And  he  had 
merely  been  apologetic  because  she  had  been  an- 
noyed, had  assured  her  that  it  wouldn't  happen 
again. 

But  she  wouldn't — couldn't — 'phone  him  again. 
And  in  her  heart  she  knew  why.  She  wanted  him 
to  have  an  explanation  ready;  she  wanted  to  give 
him  time.  Why? 

She  sneered  at  herself.  Was  she  a  love-sick  miss 
whose  lover  must  be  perfect,  must  seem  perfect?  Or 
was  she  a  grown  woman,  mistress  of  herself,  inde- 

239 


240  UNEASY  STREET 

pendent,  who,  finding  imperfection  in  a  lover,  could 
coolly  rid  herself  of  him  and  await  a  perfect  speci- 
men? 

Bigger  than  her  own  inheritance,  bigger  than 
anything  that  had  yet  entered  her  life  loomed  the 
figure  of  Rodney  Baird.  She  rang  for  her  maid. 
As  she  was  about  to  enter  her  tub,  the  telephone- 
bell  jingled. 

"Eileen?  .  .  .  This  is  Eleanor  Gather.  .  .  .  When? 
.  .  .  This  morning.  .  .  .  Everyone's  fine.  .  .  .  May 
I  see  you?  .  .  .  Right  away?  I'm  coming." 

Eileen's  frown,  that  had  been  on  her  forehead 
even  before  she  awakened,  vanished.  Eleanor  Ga- 
ther was  a  lot  of  fun;  she'd  tell  her  all  the  latest 
racy  Donchester  gossip,  and — Eleanor  Gather  knew 
Rodney  Baird! 

She  was  extremely  cordial  when  Miss  Gather, 
twenty  minutes  later,  entered  her  bedroom.  Eileen 
was  sitting  up  in  bed,  most  becomingly  arrayed  in 
a  pink,  lacy  bedroom  jacket.  Her  auburn  hair 
hung  over  either  shoulder  in  thick  braids. 

Eleanor  Gather,  after  kissing  her,  drew  back  and 
surveyed  her  carefully.  She  shook  her  head  won- 
deringly. 

"I  came  expecting  to  find  you  a  regular  cripple, 
old  dear,"  she  said.  "Instead — Eileen,  where  do 
you  buy  your  rouge?" 

"Cat!"  said  Eileen.  "Old  Doctor  Nature  fur- 
nishes it." 

"I  wish  he'd  take  me  for  a  patient,"  sighed 
Eleanor. 


UNEASY  STREET  241 

"Fishing,"  commented  Eileen.  She  dug  her  spoon 
into  her  grapefruit.  "Have  some  coffee?" 

"Wish  I  could,"  said  Miss  Gather  enviously. 
"Makes  me  yellow.  But  you  can  do  anything — 
even  act  the  Christian  martyr  and  take  care  of  a 
whole  bereaved  family.  Eileen,  you're  a  wonder! 
I  met  Dan  Seeley  last  night  just  before  I  went 
aboard  the  train.  He  was  just  back  from  the 
funeral.  Told  me  what  a  perfect  peach  you'd  been ; 
also  told  me  that  Bellew  Elsing  had  done  the  decent 
thing.  Congratulations,  old  dear.  Want  to  hire 
a  companion?" 

"Looking  for  a  job?"  asked  Eileen. 

"Seriously,"  Eleanor  said,  in  a  moment,  "if  Bob 
keeps  on,  I  don't  know  what  will  become  of  me." 

Eileen's  mouth  pursed  in  sympathy. 

"What's  he  been  up  to  now?"  she  asked.  "I 
thought  he'd  rather  been  behaving  himself." 

"So  did  I — in  his  own  peculiarly  disreputable 
fashion,"  snapped  Eleanor.  "I  don't  know  where 
he  gets  his  wildness." 

"Oh,  he'll  steady  down  after  a  while,"  said  Eileen 
soothingly. 

Eleanor  sniffed. 

"I'd  like  to  think  so.  So  would  the  rest  of  the 
family.  But — he's  my  own  brother,  Eileen.  I  can 
stand  a  Gather  drinking,  but  when  it  comes  to  act- 
ing as  private  detective  for  a  hotel  waitress " 

"What's  that?"  exclaimed  Eileen. 

"Exactly  what  I  said.  Some  girl  over  here — 
name  of  Bolton  or  Holstein — that  would  be  more 
like  it;  she's  cattle!" 


242  UNEASY  STREET 

"Holben?"  interposed  Eileen. 

Her  visitor  straightened  in  her  chair. 

"That's  it!    You  know  her?" 

"Perhaps.     Go  ahead." 

"There  isn't  much  to  go  ahead  about.  Bob  was 
in  Donchester  the  first  of  the  week.  I  didn't  know 
it.  His  lordship  never  deigns  to  keep  the  family 
informed  of  his  doings  unless  he's  in  need  of  money. 
But  he  had  luncheon  one  day  with  Willie  Curtiss. 
They  drank  too  much,  and  Bob  talked  too  much. 
Willie  told  his  sister  and  she  told  me,  of  course. 
Cat!  She's  by  way  of  being  a  fifty-eighth  cousin 
of  mine,  you  know,  and  how  she  loves  to  compare 
Bob  with  her  own  darling  little  fair-haired  brother. 
Well,  anyway,  Bob  told  Willie  that  a  girl  who  used 
to  be  a  waitress  in  Simpson's — it's  a  restaurant, 
lunch-room,  where  all  the  men  go — pretty  girls,  you 
know.  One  of  them  married  a  nephew  of  the  gov- 
ernor the  other  day;  I'm  thinking  some  of  us  might 
well  take  jobs  there.  Well,  anyway,  she's  a  sort  of 
half-baked  actress  now,  I  gather.  And  she  has  her 
battery  trained  on  one  Rodney  Baird.  What!  Do 
you  know  him,  too?" 

Eileen  forced  a  look  of  innocence.  She  hated  her- 
self for  her  start  at  Baird's  name. 

"I've  met  him,"  she  said. 

Miss  Gather  whistled. 

"I  take  it  he's  rising  in  the  world.  I  remembered 
the  name  the  moment  Jeanne  Curtiss  mentioned  it. 
Used  to  go  to  high-school.  Gawky  boy;  rather 
good-looking,  though.  But  nobody." 


UNEASY  STREET  243 

"Where  does  Baird  fit  into  this  picture-puzzle?" 
asked  Eileen. 

She  tried  to  make  her  voice  unconcerned  and 
sipped  at  her  coffee. 

"I  guess  he's  been  cutting  rather  a  dash  over 
here,"  answered  Eleanor.  "Anyway,  I  take  it  that 
he's  making  violent  love  to  the  Holben  girl,  and — • 
she  commissioned  my  brother  Bob  to  visit  Donches- 
ter  and  look  him  up."  Her  eyes  filled  with  con- 
tempt. "Imagine  Bob  doing  a  thing  like  that !  It's 
low;  it's— it's  fithy!" 

"Well,"  Eileen  admitted,  "it's  not  the  sort  of 
thing  one  wants  in  one's  biography  in  'Who's 
Who.' " 

"Hardly,"  agreed  Eleanor.  "So  I've  come  over 
to  Bob  with  the  ultimatum  from  the  family.  If  he 
must  be  a  rotter,  he  must  be  one  a  long  way  off. 
He's  been  receiving  an  allowance,  you  know — and 
we  can't  afford  it  any  too  well.  And  we're  going 
to  stop  it  unless  he  takes  a  train  for  somewhere 
west  of  the  Mississippi  and  stays  there." 

"What  did  he  find  out  about  Baird?  Did  Jeanne 
tell  you?"  inquired  Eileen.  She  tried  to  make  her 
tone  casual. 

"Oh,  she  told  me  all  right.  Not  that  it  mattered. 
What  did  Bob  find  out?  Oh,  the  man's  a  book- 
keeper or  something  like  that  on  a  spree,  I  gather. 
Hasn't  a  penny  to  bless  himself  with.  Maybe  a  few 
thousand — oh,  practically  nothing.  I  suppose  this 
Holben — that  her  name  ? — will  throw  him  over  quick. 
How'd  you  know  her,  anyway?" 

Eileen  shrugged. 


244  UNEASY  STREET 

"Oh,  one  meets  everyone.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
I  think  that  it  was  Mr.  Baird  who  introduced  us." 

"I  fancy  his  cheek,"  commented  Miss  Gather. 
"So — you  know  Baird.  How  on  earth " 

"Friend  of  Jimmy  Ladd's.  Comrades  in  arms — 
all  that  sort  of  thing.  Working  for  Jimmy  now." 

"Oh,  I  say!    If  I've  injured  him " 

"How  could  you?  I  hardly  know  the  man.  Met 
him  a  few  times — that's  all." 

"And  does  he  seem  the  sort  to  tie  himself  up 
with  a  waitress?"  asked  Miss  Gather. 

"O  Lord,  my  dear!  What  a  question!  What 
does  one  know  of  the  sort  of  sort  our  dearest  man 
friend  is?" 

"Until  we  marry  him.  Then  we  find  out  that  he's 
the  lowest  sort,"  chuckled  Miss  Gather.  "At  least, 
if  one  listens  to  one's  friends."  She  rose.  "Bless 
your  heart  for  letting  me  drop  in  and  shift  the 
Gather  burden  for  a  while  to  your  shoulders. 
Darned  handsome  shoulders,  old  dear,  too !"  she  said 
admiringly. 

"Thanks!"  said  Eileen.  She  drew  the  lacy  jacket 
that  had  slipped  down  a  bit  closer  about  her. 
"Where  you  going?  Aren't  you  going  to  spree  it 
a  bit  and  everything?" 

"With  that  disgusting  brother  on  my  neck?  I 
should  say  not !  I  wouldn't  have  dropped  in  at  all, 
Eileen,  only  Dan  Seeley's  news  was  so  good  that  I 
had  to  congratulate  you.  How  much?  He  said 
three  or  four  million." 

Eileen  shook  her  head. 

"It's   a  long  ride  to   Donchester.      Things   look 


UNEASY  STREET  245 

bigger  after  you've  thought  about  them.  A  million, 
maybe." 

"It's  a  bunch,"  said  Eleanor  slangily.  "For  good- 
ness' sake,  take  care  of  it,  old  darling!" 

"But  you  mustn't  go  so  soon,"  protested  Eileen. 

"Must.  Engagement  to-morrow  for  luncheon.  I 
wired  Bob.  Told  him  to  meet  me  at  the  Plaza  at 
one.  I'm  going  to  talk  straight  to  that  brother  of 
mine.  Then  I'm  going  to  wash  my  hands  of  him — * 
for  good." 

"Aren't  you  a  bit  cruel,  Eleanor?" 

Her  visitor's  eyes  suddenly  clouded. 

"Eileen,  if  you  know  how  I  felt!  He's  iny 
brother.  But  he's  been  given  every  chance.  Eileen, 
this  thing — there  are  certain  lapses  that  don't  mat- 
ter. They're  physical  things,  not  moral.  One  for- 
gives them.  But  this — the  eyes  of  his  soul  see 
crookedly." 

Miss  Gather  left.  Eileen  analyzed  what  she  had 
told  her.  Fannie  Holben  had  had  Baird  investi- 
gated. Baird  had  no  money.  Fannie  Holben  had 
told  Eileen  that  she  could  jail  Baird.  What  was 
the  nature  of  the  thing  that  he  had  done?  She  was 
going  to  find  out. 

There  was  anger  in  her  eyes  as  she  reached  for 
the  telephone  and  called  up  Sam  Blackmar.  Black- 
mar  could  tell  her.  He  must  make  good  his  hints 
of  last  Sunday.  And  if  he  couldn't  or  wouldn't — 
She  put  the  telephone  down  just  as  she  heard  Black- 
mar's  voice. 

She — she    couldn't    ask   Blackmar    about   Baird. 


246  UNEASY  STREET 

Not  about  Baird.  It — it  was  foolishness,  that's 
what  it  was.  She  was  silly,  sentimental,  but — 

"Good  Lord,"  she  told  herself  ten  minutes  later, 
looking  into  the  mirror  and  trying  to  smile  at  the 
disheveled  reflection  that  it  gave  forth,  ,"a  girl  has 
to  love  some  one,  doesn't  she?  And  if  he  happens 
to  be  a  rotter,  why — well,  the  quicker  she  knows  it 
the  quicker  she'll  begin  getting  over  her  love,  eh? 
Buck  up,  Eileen!" 

This  time,  when  she  reached  for  the  telephone, 
she  did  not  put  it  down  until  she  had  talked  with 
Blackmar  and  he  had  eagerly  agreed  to  take  her 
to  luncheon. 

But  the  luncheon,  as  far  as  her  purposes  were 
concerned,  was  a  failure.  Blackmar  was  extremely 
reticent  on  the  subject  of  Baird. 

"I  was  hasty  the  other  day,  Eileen.  I  was — 
jealous.  Let  it  go  at  that  and  forgive  me  for  be- 
ing a  cad.  But  now — what's  the  use?  You've 
money.  You'll  marry  whom  you  want." 

"Your  money  being  your  only  asset,  eh,  Sam?" 
she  asked. 

"I  suppose  so."  He  was  extremely  meek,  ex- 
tremely downcast. 

"Well,  I  haven't  married  anyone  yet,  Sam,  you 
know.  Maybe  I  never  shall.  And  you  really  have 
nothing  definite  to  tell  me  about  Mr.  Baird?" 

He  colored  faintly  and  shook  his  head. 

"Nothing  at  all,  except — I  wouldn't  hurry, 
Eileen." 

"  I'll  not,"  she  told  him. 

She  left  him  with  the  definite  feeling  that,  for 


UNEASY  STREET  247 

some  reason  or  other,  he'd  been  lying.  It  wasn't 
jealousy  alone  that  made  him  intimate  things 
against  Baird  last  Sunday.  But  when  Sam  Black- 
mar  wanted  to  be  a  close-mouth,  a  clam  was  an 
open-throat  beside  him. 

Very  well,  then.  Maybe  Miss  Fannie  Holben 
could  be  made  to  talk  if  Sam  Blackmar  wouldn't. 
But  why  on  earth  had  Sam  refused  to  make  good 
his  hints  of  Sunday?  She  gave  it  up.  Life  was 
complex,  and  people  were  more  so. 


XXIV 

DEAR  FRANKIE :  Here's  your  twenty-five  hun- 
dred.     You're  a  good   sport   and   I'm  much 
obliged.     Your  friend,  FANNIE. 

Landers  read  the  note,  written  sprawlingly  on 
cheap  and  scented  paper,  over  again.  He  read  it 
once  more.  His  gray  eyes,  always  hard,  were  flinty. 

"So  I'm  a  good  sport,  am  I?  And  she's  much 
obliged?  And  she's  my  friend,  Fannie,  is  she?" 

He  put  the  note  down  and  picked  up  the  Morning 
Telegraph.  But  the  racing  and  theatrical  news  held 
no  interest  for  him  to-day.  He  reached  for  the  note 
again.  He  examined  the  check,  drawn  to  the  order 
of  Francis  Charles  Landers.  He  put  it  down  and 
reread  the  address  at  the  head  of  the  note.  East 
Thirty-fifth  Street,  in  the  old  Murray  Hill  section. 
And  not  a  hotel,  nor  yet — he  guessed — a  boarding- 
house. 

Fannie  had  an  apartment !  And  she'd  been  broke, 
busted  flat,  a  few  days  ago.  Yet  this  morning  she 
returned  to  him  his  loan.  Well,  there  was  only  one 
way  that  a  woman  got  the  money  in  this  man's 
town — 

He  dressed  rather  slowly,  taking  meticulous  care 
with  his  shaving,  with  the  adjustment  of  his  tie, 

248 


UNEASY  STREET  249 

with  the  selection  of  the  close-coupled  studs  for  the 
sleeves  of  his  expensive  and  noisy  silk  shirt. 

Down-stairs,  in  the  Tramby  cafe,  he  breakfasted 
with  the  same  deliberation  that  had  characterized 
his  dressing.  One  would  have  known  him  intimately 
to  realize  that  anything  had  gone  wrong  in  the 
Landers  life. 

His  hearty  breakfast  finished,  Landers  quietly 
paid  the  check.  He  was  cordial  to  the  hat-boy,  and 
tipped  him  generously  for  aiding  him  with  his  rather 
bulky  fur-lined  overcoat.  He  nodded  smilingly  to  a 
couple  of  acquaintances  in  the  lobby,  was  depre- 
cating in  his  refusal  of  a  taxi  from  the  starter  out- 
side. 

"Nice  brisk  morning,  Tom;  think  I'd  rather 
walk." 

"Certainly,  sir.  Do  you  good,  sir.  Nothing  like 
the  morning  air,  sir."  The  starter  touched  his  hat. 

There  was  something  determined  in  Landers'  walk 
as  he  strode  eastward.  But  again  one  would  have 
known  him  well  to  understand  that  that  firm  tread 
was  due  to  repression.  The  most  important  rule  in 
the  social  code  of  the  professional  gambler  is  that 
he  must  wear,  no  matter  how  badly  the  luck  breaks 
against  him,  an  appearance  of  nonchalance.  It  is 
extremely  bad  form  to  "beef"  about  your  losses. 

So,  because  he  was  used  to  veiling  his  emotions, 
Landers  veiled  them  to-day.  He  was  wearing  his 
usual  calm  expression  when  he  rang  the  bell  above 
the  card  bearing  the  name:  "F.  Holben,"  in  the 
doorway  of  the  apartment-house  on  East  Thirty- 


250  UNEASY  STREET 

fifth  Street.  It  was  a  modest  enough,  old-fash- 
ioned building,  a  private  dwelling  remodeled. 

"Nice,  quiet  place,"  said  Landers  to  himself,  as 
the  door,  in  response  to  his  ring,  swung  open. 

His  stride,  as  he  mounted  the  stairs  to  the  second 
floor,  was  still  determined,  assured;  but  there  was 
a  heaviness  in  it  that  one  hardly  expected  from  one 
of  his  lithe  figure. 

Fannie  herself  was  standing  in  the  doorway  on 
the  second  floor.  If  her  heart  skipped  a  beat,  she 
still  managed  a  smile. 

"Frankie!  Aren't  you  good  to  come  around  so 
soon?'* 

Landers  passed  through  the  door.  He  hung  his 
hat  and  coat  on  a  stand  in  the  hall  and  followed 
the  girl  into  a  living-room.  It  was  a  pleasant 
room,  furnished  rather  better  than  Landers  had, 
somehow  or  other,  expected.  Oddly,  too,  the  room 
was  homelike.  Fannie  was  a  home  person,  and  he'd 
always  known  it. 

He  sat  down;  his  hands  fell  upon  his  knees.  He 
looked  down  upon  the  floor,  avoiding  her  eyes.  Her 
courage  rose  at  this  evidence  of  acquiescence. 

"Yeh,  I'm  good,  all  right,"  he  said.  His  voice 
was  colorless,  leaden. 

"Indeed  you  are !  Don't  you  like  my  little  home  ?" 
She  was.  a  bit  too  bright  of  voice.  Her  courage  was 
rising. 

"Yeh;  I  like  it  all  right.  I'd  rather  picked  it 
out  myself,  but  so  long's  you're  satisfied,  I  guess 
I  can  enjoy  it,  too." 

Like  a  balloon  that  had  been  pierced  by  an  enemy 


UNEASY  STREET  251 

shell  in  mid-air,  the  Holben  courage  sank.  She 
drew  upon  her  store  of  insolence  that  so  often  de- 
ceives by  its  masquerade  of  bravery. 

"You're  twenty  minutes  late,  more  or  less, 
Frankie,"  she  said. 

"Uh-huh.  I  often  miss  the  train ;  but  I  get  where 
I  want  to  go  just  the  same,  Fannie.  Now — " 
From  his  pocket  he  took  the  letter  that  she  had 
sent  him.  Carefully,  with  steady  fingers,  he  took 
out  her  check.  His  calmness  frightened  her. 

"Now  this,  of  course,  I'll  just  tear  up,"  he  said. 
He  folded  the  pink  slip  and  tore  it  carefully  in  two. 
He  looked  round,  apparently  in  search  of  a  waste- 
basket.  Not  seeing  one,  he  put  the  bits  of  paper  on 
the  table.  Then,  still  deliberately,  he  brought  out 
his  check-book. 

"How  much,  Fannie?"  he  asked. 

"How  much  what?"  She  tried  to  put  defiance 
into  her  voice. 

"Oh,  all  this."  He  gestured  vaguely  around  him. 
"The  rent — you  got  some  new  clothes,  too,  I  sup- 
pose. All  of  it." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"I  suppose  you  don't.  How  big  a  stake  did  he 
give  you?'* 

"Who?" 

"Yeh.  I  want  to  know  that,  too.  Though  it's 
easy  to  guess.  Some  rapid  worker,  this  Baird.  Oh, 
well,  the  faster  they  go  the  harder  they  crash." 

Once  again  her  heart  seemed  to  stop.  She  hadn't 
realized  that  Frankie  was  as  much  in  earnest  as  he 
really  was.  Now  she  understood.  He'd  been  so 


252  UNEASY  STREET 

casual  in  his  love-making,  so  content,  apparently, 
to  bide  his  time,  that  she  had  thought  that  he'd 
perhaps  let  her  drift  out  of  his  life  without  attempt 
to  stay  her.  Now  she  knew  better. 

"I  don't  want  your  money,"  she  said.  "I  sent 
you  back " 

A  shake  of  his  head  interrupted  her. 

"It  ain't  what  you  do,  Fannie.  It's  what  I  do. 
Get  that  into  your  nut,  will  you,  kid?  It'll  save 
time  and  mistakes  if  you  do."  For  a  moment,  he 
looked  into  her  eyes.  Then  his  own  dropped  down, 
but  not  before  she  had  time  to  glimpse  the  steely 
wrath  in  them.  "How  much?"  he  demanded. 

The  girl's  weak  resistance  crumpled. 

"Five  thousand,"  she  muttered.  Then,  suddenly, 
she  collapsed.  Her  head  fell  forward  into  her  arms 
and  her  body  shook  with  the  vehemence  of  her 
sobbing. 

Calmly,  Landers  wrote  in  his  check-book.  He 
tore  out  the  slip  on  which  he  had  written  and  put  it 
in  his  waistcoat  pocket.  He  returned  the  book  to 
the  pocket  in  his  jacket.  Then  he  rose  deliberately. 

"That's  all  right,  Fannie,"  he  said  heavily.  "Cry 
all  you  want;  it'll  do  you  good.  I'm  going  out 
now.  I'll  be  back " 

"Frankie!"  She  lifted  her  eyes,  from  which  the 
tears  streamed  down  her  plump  cheeks.  Some 
women  are  fortunate  enough  to  be  able  to  let  their 
spirituality  shine  through  their  sorrow.  But  Fan- 
nie Holben  was  never  so  much  of  the  earth  earthy, 
never  so  fleshly,  as  when  she  wept.  Yet  it  so  hap- 


UNEASY  STREET  253 

pened  that  she  was  the  one  woman  whom  Frankie 
Landers  had  ever  desired  to  marry.  "Don't — 
Frankie — don't  you " 

"Don't  fret  about  me.  I  know  my  way  round  in 
the  dark,"  he  told  her.  In  his  voice  there  was  a 
hint  of  softness.  To  him  she  had  never  been  so 
appealing,  so  utterly  desirable,  as  in  this  moment. 
Women  were  only  children;  they  ought  to  weep 
when  they  were  caught  in  naughtiness.  But  the  soft- 
ness went  as  quickly  as  it  had  come.  "You  pack!" 

"What?" 

"You  heard  me.    You  pack  your  things !" 

He  walked  into  the  hall,  climbed  into  his  heavy 
overcoat  and  left  the  apartment. 

Defiance  had  been  in  Fannie  Holben's  heart  when 
she  had  sent  Landers  the  check  last  night.  She  had 
known  that,  sooner  or  later,  Landers  would  find  out 
where  she  was  living.  Why  postpone  the  inevitable? 
Also,  her  note  and  its  enclosure  would  hurt  Lan- 
ders. Landers  had  driven  a  bargain  with  her.  What 
right  had  a  man  to  drive  a  bargain  with  a  woman 
whom  he  pretended  to  love?  It  had  pleased  her  to 
hurt  him.  But  his  presence  had  aroused  fear. 
Now —  He  was  going  to  see  Baird;  she  was  sure 
of  it.  She  rushed  to  the  telephone  and  called  up 
Ladd  &  Company. 

"Mr.  James  Ladd,  junior,"  she  said. 

"Out  of  town,"  came  the  bored  reply  of  the 
telephone-clerk. 

She  had  known  it.  Last  Wednesday  night,  Jimmy 
Ladd  had  given  her  a  check  for  five  thousand  dol- 


254  UNEASY  STREET 

lars.  She  had  telephoned  his  office  the  next  day 
to  learn  that  he  was  out  of  town.  She  had  tele- 
phoned again  on  Friday.  He  was  still  out  of  town. 
Then  she  had  written  him  a  note,  giving  him  her  ad- 
dress. Yet  she  had  not  heard  from  him.  And  to- 
day was  Tuesday.  Almost  a  week  since  he  had 
written  her  his  check,  and  she  had  not  heard  a  word 
from  him. 

"Give  me  Mr.  Baird,  please,"  she  said.  She 
hated  to  speak  with  Baird.  She'd  hoped  that  Jimmy 
might  have  returned  this  morning,  that  she  could 
tell  him  the  mistake  under  which  Landers  labored. 
To  tell  Baird—  "This  is  Miss  Holben,"  she  said. 

"Yes?"  Baird's  tone  was  cold.  Six  nights  ago, 
Eileen  had  telephoned  him  of  Fannie's  visit.  Since 
then,  Eileen's  maid  had  always  answered;  Miss  El- 
sing  was  not  at  home.  He  had  called  twice;  Miss 
Elsing  was  not  at  home. 

To  Fannie  Holben  he  ascribed  his  unhappy  week. 
She  was  to  blame  for  Eileen's  coldness,  her  neglect. 
No  longer  was  he  concerned  with  the  moral  aspects 
of  his  case.  He  dealt  in  physical  facts  only,  now. 
He  had  taken  the  trunk  of  money  from  the  Tramby ; 
he  had  used  some  of  it;  that  use  had  given  him  his 
opportunity  in  life.  Landers  had  not  annoyed  him; 
Blackmar  had  let  him  alone.  Since  Fannie's  visit, 
six  nights  ago,  nothing  untoward  had  happened.  He 
was  safe,  he  reasoned.  And  it  was  safety,  not  ethics, 
that  was  most  important. 

So  now,  instead  of  hating  the  deed  that  had  put 
him  in  the  position  of  having  to  undergo  injury  at 
the  hands  of  Fannie  Holben,  he  hated  her. 


UNEASY  STREET  255 

"I  just  telephoned  Mr.  Ladd.  They  tell  me  he's 
out  of  town." 

Baird's  lips  pursed.  Jimmy  had  been  in  his  office 
this  morning. 

"Well?" 

"Frankie  Landers  was  just  here.  He  found  me 
— I'm  living  in  an  apartment!" 

Baird  hardly  noticed  that  she  had  accented  the 
last  word. 

"Well?"  he  said  again. 

The  girl  hesitated.  She  was  talking  to  a  man 
whom  she  had  tried  to  blackmail,  and  she  was  now 
trying  to  impress  him  with  her  virtue. 

"Mr.  Ladd  is  paying  for  this  apartment  where 
I'm  living,"  she  blurted. 

Baird  whistled. 

"It's  not  what  you  think !"  she  cried.  "He  hasn't 
been  here  once;  he's  been  away.  But  Frankie  Lan- 
ders thinks " 

"Why  tell  me  all  this?  I'm  not  concerned,"  said 
Baird. 

"Because  Frankie  thinks  it's  you!  And  he's  on 
his  way  down-town  now,  and — I'm  awful  scared," 
she  wailed. 

Not  content  with  damning  him  with  Eileen,  as  she 
had  evidently  succeeded  in  doing,  she  was  damning 
him  with  Landers,  rousing  hatred  in  a  man  who 
already  suspected  him  of  having  in  his  possession 
money  to  which  Landers  had  some  sort  of  title. 

"Why?"  he  demanded.  "Why  did  you  tell 
him " 

"I  didn't  tell  him   anything!"   she   cried.      "He 


256  UNEASY  STREET 

guessed  it  was  you.  For  goodness'  sake  look  out 
for  yourself!" 

"I'll  take  care  of  myself,"  he  said  angrily.  He 
hung  up  the  receiver  with  a  bang,  and  walked  out 
to  the  telephone-clerk,  wondering  how  much  she  had 
overheard.  But  the  young  woman  was  engrossed  in 
a  book. 

"Some  one  had  me  on  the  telephone — wanted  Mr. 
Ladd,"  he  said. 

The  young  woman  nodded. 

"Mr.  Ladd  told  me,  the  middle  of  last  week,  that 
he  was  away  on  a  business  trip  to  anyone  who 
called  up." 

Baird  nodded.  He  continued  on  to  Ladd's  office. 
But  Jimmy,  according  to  his  secretary,  had  gone 
out  an  hour  ago. 

In  his  own  office,  Baird  walked  impatiently  up 
and  down.  He  was  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  Lan- 
ders, but — he  wished  that  Jimmy  was  there. 

Landers  did  not  send  in  his  name.  He  walked 
boldly  by  the  door-porter.  Baird's  office  was  at  the 
end  of  the  hall  that  led  from  the  reception-room. 
His  name  was  upon  the  door.  Landers  entered. 

Baird  wheeled  suddenly.  The  rapid  movement 
disconcerted  Landers,  so  that  he  did  what  other- 
wise he  would  not  have  done — not  at  once,  at  any 
rate.  He  whipped  out  a  revolver. 

Baird  had  just  returned  from  Europe.  Arms  and 
the  use  of  them  were  no  novelty  in  his  recent  life. 
And,  in  that  recent  life,  arms  had  been  drawn  for 
use,  not  for  'threat.  He  leaped  forward,  swaying 
his  body  from  side  to.  side,  as  a  fast  boxer  does. 


UNEASY  STREET  257 

Landers  had  time  to  fire  once.  Then  Balrd  was 
upon  him,  and  had  wrenched  the  weapon  from  the 
fingers  of  the  slighter  man.  With  his  right  hand, 
he  held  Landers  away  from  him. 

"Be  quiet,  you  fool!"  he  snapped.     "Sit  down!'9 

To  kill  was  one  thing.  To  fail  to  kill  was  an- 
other. Landers  could  have  killed.  After  killing, 
he  could  have  carefully  planned  his  escape.  But  to 
have  merely  fired  at  a  man,  and  to  be  compelled 
to  face  a  jail-sentence  after  having  been  disgrace- 
fully disarmed  by  his  enemy —  Landers  was  white 
as  Baird  walked  to  the  door. 

Two  clerks  were  hurrying  down  the  hall. 

"Mr.  Ladd  in  yet?"  demanded  Baird. 

The  clerks  stopped  short  at  sight  of  him.  One 
of  them  wiped  his  forehead. 

"Thought  we  heard  a  shot  or  something,  Mr. 
Baird,"  he  giggled. 

"A  'shot?'"  Baird  stared  at  them  blankly. 
"Oh — I  knocked  over  a  book-case.  No;  I'll  put  it 
back  myself.  Mr.  Ladd  not  in?" 

"No;  not  yet,  sir." 

"Very  well."  Baird  closed  the  door  upon  them. 
He  wheeled  toward  Landers. 

"Get  out !"  he  said. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  Landers  was  whipped. 
Mechanically,  he  reached  for  his  hat  and  left  the 
office.  On  the  steps  outside,  he  met  Jimmy  Ladd. 
A  touch  of  color  swept  into  Ladd's  cheeks. 

"Did  you  want  to  see  me,  Landers?"  he  asked. 

Landers  shook  his  head. 


258  UNEASY  STREET 

"No;  I  saw  Baird." 

Jimmy  pursed  his  lips.  Curious,  a  little  disturbed, 
he  knocked,  a  moment  later,  on  the  door  of  Baird's 
office.  A  harsh  whisper  asked  who  it  was.  He 
replied. 

"Come  in,"  said  Baird. 

Baird  was  sitting  in  his  swivel  chair.  His  coat 
was  off  and  he  was  tying  a  blood-stained  towel 
around  his  arm. 

"Well,  for — who —    Rod!"  cried  Jimmy. 

Baird  looked  at  him  grimly. 

"Nice  mess  you  got  me  into,  Jimmy.  Landers 
thinks  I've  been  putting  up  for  that  Holben  girl, 

and "  He  grinned.  "Never  thought  my  army 

training  would  help  much  in  this  life.  I  got  his 
gun " 

"And  let  him  go?"  gasped  Ladd. 

"Well,  did  you  want  me  to  call  in  the  office  staff, 
and  have  Landers  arrested,  and  have  it  come  out 
that  he  potted  the  wrong  man?" 

A  vivid  blush  swept  over  Jimmy's  face. 

"Rod — you're  some  boy!     I " 

"Forget  the  bless-you-my-son  stuff,"  groaned 
Baird.  "Do  you  know  a  doctor  that'll  keep  his 
mouth  shut?" 

"But  can  you  wait " 

"It's  stopped  bleeding,"  announced  Baird.  "Help 
me  on  with  my  coat.  It's  not  much  more  than  a 
scratch." 

They  left  the  office  by  a  side  exit,  little  used, 
and  were  fortunate  enough  to  find  a  taxicab  im- 


UNEASY  STREET  259 

mediately.     And  Doctor  Mensted,  an  old  chum  of 
Jimmy's,  was  the  soul  of  discretion  itself. 

"Stay  in  bed  twenty-four  hours,"  he  advised, 
after  he  had  attended  to  the  wound,  "and  you'll 
never  know  you've  been  hurt." 


XXV 

DOCTOR  MENSTED  was  the  soul  of  discre- 
tion, but  his  office-nurse  was  not.  She  had 
recognized  Jimmy  Ladd.  Any  young  woman  who 
read  the  society  pages  was  bound,  sooner  or  later, 
to  run  across  a  picture  of  Jimmy  doing  something 
or  other.  Having  assisted  the  doctor  in  the  steriliza- 
tion of  instruments  and  bandaging  up  Baird's 
wounded  left  arm,  she  was  experienced  enough  to 
recognize  that  a  bullet  had  caused  the  injury. 

She  talked  that  night  to  a  young  man  at  her 
boarding-house.  The  young  man  had  a  friend  on 
an  afternoon  newspaper.  Before  ten,  on  Wednes- 
day morning,  a  reporter  interviewed  Jimmy  Ladd. 

Of  course,  he  learned  nothing.  Equally  of  course, 
the  reporter's  paper,  the  Blade,  dared  publish  noth- 
ing. Libel  is  a  heavy  threat,  especially  when  made 
by  one  who  has  money  wherewith  to  press  a  suit. 

But  the  mischief  was  done,  although  Doctor  Men- 
sted  backed  up  Jimmy  in  his  denial  that  he  had 
treated  anyone  for  a  bullet-wound.  The  nurse  was 
discharged,  and  one  would  have  thought  that  the  in- 
cident could  have  been  considered  closed.  The  nurse 
did  not  know  the  name  of  Jimmy's  wounded  com- 
panion. 

But  rumor  travels  upon  wings,  and  finally  it 
260 


UNEASY  STREET  261 

reached  the  ears  of  a  young  woman  who,  under  the 
nom-de-plume  of  "The  Divorcee,"  supplied  City 
Items  with  some  of  the  paragraphs  that  made  that 
weekly  journal  so  popular. 

It  reached  the  editorial  offices  of  City  Items  on 
Thursday,  in  time  to  catch  that  week's  issue  of  the 
paper.  So  it  happened  that,  on  Friday  noon,  Jen- 
nie Elsing  read  the  paragraph.  She  immediately 
called  up  Eileen,  and  Eileen  sent  her  maid  out  for 
a  copy  of  the  paper. 

She  found  the  paragraph  easily.  It  was  the  first 
one  in  The  Divorcee's  column. 

A  certain  young  millionaire  who  acquitted  himself 
creditably  in  France  has  been  on  the  water-wagon 
almost  a  fortnight,  and  his  friends,  realizing  what 
a  triumph  this  was,  had  hoped  for  big  things,  espe- 
cially since  his  multimillionaire  father  has  taken  him 
into  partnership.  But  some  people,  on  quitting 
drink,  take  to  other  things.  This  young  man,  it  is 
said,  has  not  substituted  drugs  for  liquor.  A  re- 
volver is  his  substitute.  At  any  rate,  he  took  a 
friend  of  his — name  unknown — to  a  certain  famous 
surgeon  last  Tuesday.  Apparently,  the  two  youths 
were  friendly  still,  but  that  may  have  been  camou- 
flage for  spying  servants  or  nurses.  Mr.  Unknown 
Friend  had  a  bullet-hole  in  his  left  arm.  Puzzle: 
Who  did  it?  And  why? 

Of  course,  Jimmy  Ladd  was  the  young  million- 
aire. A  cold  chill  crept  over  Eileen's  heart  as  she 
put  the  sheet  down.  City  Items  was  scandalous, 


262  UNEASY  STREET 

libelous,  but — it  told  the  truth,  mostly,  viciously 
unnecessary  as  publication  of  the  truth  might  be. 

There  was  no  reason  on  earth  for  Eileen  to  con- 
nect Baird  with  the  story.  But — if  it  had  been 
an  intimate  friend  of  long  standing,  whoever  had 
seen  Jimmy  enter  a  doctor's  office  would  have  recog- 
nized the  friend  as  well  as  Jimmy.  But  Baird,  be- 
ing a  recent  friend —  It  was  absurd!  Neverthe- 
less, Eileen  telephoned  Jimmy  Ladd. 

"What's  all  this  scandal  in  Items  about  you, 
Jimmy?"  she  demanded. 

"It  doesn't  mean  me,  that's  all,'*  lied  Jimmy  un- 
hesitatingly. 

"Then  you  haven't  been  keeping  away  from  me 
merely  because  you  disliked  having  my  fair  name 
coupled  with  a  young  would-be  murderer?" 

"But  Baird's  been  telling  me  that  you  were  away." 

"Because  I  am  'out'  to  him  doesn't  necessarily 
mean  that  you  couldn't  have  found  me  in,"  she 
retorted. 

"Eh?  What's  wrong  with  you  and  Rod?"  he 
demanded. 

"Was  there  ever  anything  particularly  'right' 
with  us?"  she  countered. 

"Don't  take  that  tone  with  me,  young  woman," 
he  told  her.  "I'm  not  bound  to  your  chariot-wheels 
any  more." 

"Please,  sir,  Mr.  Ladd,  sir,  will  you  eat  dinner 
with  a  lonely  young  woman?" 

"That's  a  whole  lot  better,"  he  approved.  "To- 
night?" 

"At  seven,"  she  replied. 


UNEASY  STREET  263 

"I'll  be  wid  yez,"  he  said. 

He  was,  to  all  appearances,  a  young  man  with 
nothing  on  his  soul  but  his  flesh.  He  was  merry 
as  usual.  And  tactfully,  not  until  dinner  was  fin- 
ished and  he  had  lighted  the  inevitable  cigarette, 
did  she  approach  the  subject  which,  by  tacit  mu- 
tual consent,  had  been  thus  far  avoided. 

"Jimmy,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  Rodney 
Baird." 

"I  thought  so,"  he  jeered.  "What  have  you  two 
quarreled  about?" 

Her  lips  curled  a  moment. 

"We  haven't  been  intimate  enough  for  a  quar- 
rel, Jimmy." 

"Then  why  does  he  think  you're  still  out  of 
town?" 

"Jimmy,  you're  my  friend,  aren't  you?" 

"The  best  you'll  ever  have,  Eileen,"  he  assured 
her. 

"Then  it's  all  right.  Well  then — I  want  to  know 
something  about  Mr.  Baird." 

Jimmy  puffed  on  his  cigarette. 

"Fire  away,"  he  invited. 

"Just  after  I  met  him,  Sam  Blackmar  objected 
to  his  coming  here." 

"Jealous,"  commented  Jimmy. 

"One  night  last  week,  that  Holben  girl  called 
on  me." 

Jimmy  glanced  at  her  swiftly. 

"Called  on  you?" 

"To  tell  me  that  she  could  put  Mr.  Baird  in  jail 
if  she  chose." 


264  UNEASY  STREET 

"What?" 

"The  next  day,  Eleanor  Gather  dropped  in.  Told 
me  that  the  Holben  woman  had  paid  her  brother 
to  investigate  Baird  in  Donchester.  Eleanor  was 
naturally  angry  at  Bob.  She  thought  he'd  sunk 
rather  low.  So  did  I.  But — Bob  had  discovered 
that  Baird  was  practically  penniless." 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  demanded  Jimmy  pugna- 
ciously. 

"I  don't  know.  Why  should  the  Holben  woman 
pay  Gather  to  look  up  Baird?  Does  she  hope  to 
marry  him?" 

"Rot!"  declared  Jimmy. 

"Why  did  she  come  to  me?" 

"Thought  you'd  be  interested  enough  to  buy  her 
off,"  suggested  Jimmy. 

Eileen  colored. 

"I  wasn't.  I  didn't  even  ask  what  she  had  to  say 
against  Mr.  Baird." 

"What  did  you  do?"  asked  Jimmy. 

"I  telephoned  him  that — that  she'd  threatened 
him.  That  was  all." 

"And  since  then?" 

"I  haven't  seen  him.'* 

"Refused  to  see  him,  eh?" 

"Well,  supposing  I  have?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  The  easiest  way,  though,  is  to 
ask.  That's  the  way  to  find  out.  Why  not  ask 
Rod  what  it  all  means?" 

"And  mix  myself  up  with — it  all  looks  like  dirt, 
Jimmy." 


UNEASY  STREET  265 

"And  you'd  hate  to  soil  your  pretty  white  hands, 
eh?"  He  openly  sneered  at  her. 

"And  you  were  considering  being  engaged  to  him. 
I  don't  think  your  friendship  is  worth  much,  Eileen." 
He  glared  at  her. 

"Jimmy!"  she  gasped. 

"I  said  it.  I  mean  it,"  he  blazed.  "You're  the 
girl  that  I've  always  sworn  was  the  finest  made. 
And  you  quit  under  fire!  Lord,  you  weren't  even 
under  fire!" 

She  sat  bolt  upright,  her  eyes  blazing  with  anger. 

"Be  careful  what  you  say,  Jimmy." 

"Careful  nothing!  You  listen  to  me.  You  want 
to  know  what  kind  of  chap  Rod  Baird  is,  don't  you? 
Well,  I'll  tell  you.  He's  too  darned  good  for  you 
or  any  other  woman  that  drops  a  friendship  at  the 
first  mean  whisper." 

"I  read  more  than  a  whisper  about  you  to-day 
and  haven't  dropped  you,"  she  defended  herself. 

"And  I  suppose  you  pride  yourself  on  that.  But 
I  notice  that  you  invited  me  up  here  to  hear  what' 
defense  I  might  have.  Well,  you'll  hear  it.  That 
Holben  girl — I  gave  her  five  thousand  dollars  one 
day  last  week,  and  put  her  in  an  apartment.  I  did 
it — I'm  a  fool,  I  am.  But  Frankie  Landers  is  crazy 
about  her.  She's  a  fool — hasn't  sense  enough  to 
marry  him.  I  figured  that  when  I  came  to  claim 
my  payment — Oh,  let  me  be  frank;  it  won't  hurt 
you — that  if  there  was  anything  decent  in  the  girl, 
it  would  come  out,  that  she'd  throw  me  over  like 
a  shot  and  run  to  Landers.  And  just  so's  she'd  have 
time  to  think  it  over,  I  kept  away  from  her,  let  her 


266  UNEASY  STREET 

think  I'd  gone  out  of  town.  You  see,  I  sort  of 
liked  the  little  fool.  She's  kept  herself  straight, 
in  her  way,  until  now — I  knew  she'd  balk  at  pay- 
ment. 

"Well,  I  stayed  away  too  long.  Landers  found 
out,  went  to  see  her,  got  the  idea  it  was  Rod  who 
put  up  for  her,  came  down  to  the  office,  and  put 
a  bullet  into  Rod." 

Eileen's  color  deserted  her. 

"He  wasn't " 

"Nothing  much.  But — he  jumped  Landers,  toot 
his  gun  away  from  him,  kept  the  whole  business 
quiet,  and — how  many  men  would  have  let  Landers 
go?" 

She  managed  a  sneer. 

"He  wanted  to  dodge  scandal,"  she  said. 

Jimmy  looked  her  over  coldly. 

"You're  pretty  mean,  Eileen,  I'm  thinking.  Yes ; 
he  wanted  to  dodge  scandal.  To  dodge  it  for  me! 
I  found  him  bandaging  up  a  hole  in  his  arm  by  him- 
self. I'm  his  friend.  He'd  take  a  bullet  for  me 
and  keep  quiet  about  it.  That's  friendship,  Eileen." 

She  leaned  forward. 

"Jimmy,  I'm  pretty  small,  am  I  not?" 

**Well,  you  don't  measure  up  very  big,  old  dear," 
he  told  her. 

"Is  he— still " 

"Oh,  he's  all  right  enough.  Been  three  days  in 
bed.  Had  a  bit  of  a  fever,  but  it's  gone  now." 

"You  think  he'd  like  to — hear  from  me?" 

"Don't  talk  foolishness,  Eileen.  You  know  he's 
mad  about  you." 


UNEASY  STREET  267 

He  said  other  things  before  he  left,  but  this  sen- 
tence was  the  one  that  rang  in  her  ears.  Baird 
was  "mad  about  her!" 

And  she'd  judged  him  without  hearing  his  de- 
fense. Well,  she'd  make  amends.  She'd  telephone — 
Telephoning  was  too  cold.  She  tiptoed  into  Mrs. 
Kelton's  room.  Her  chaperon  was  sound  asleep. 
So,  too,  judging  from  the  heavy  breathing,  was 
her  colored  maid. 

She  changed  her  slippers  for  stouter  Oxfords,  and 
put  on  a  heavy  coat.  She  didn't  care  for  gossip, 
for  talk,  for  scandal.  Baird  was  too  ill  to  come 
to  her  if  she  sent  for  him;  she  was  going  to  him 
without  his  sending  for  her.  He  was  mad  about 
her.  It  was  the  sweetest  sentence  that  mortal  had 
ever  uttered. 


XXVI 

FRANKIE  LANDERS  had  been  confronted  by 
many  strange  situations  in  a  life  devoted  to 
getting  the  "sucker-money."  Cold  nerve  had  pulled 
him  through  all  of  them.  Perfect  master  of  his  tem- 
per had  he  always  been. 

But  blind  wrath  now  swayed  him.  True,  he  had 
gone  armed  to  see  Baird.  But  what  of  that?  He 
was  always  armed.  And,  despite  the  greatest  provo- 
cation, he  had  never  used  a  weapon  before.  He  had 
drawn  it — yes ;  but  he  had  never  fired  it. 

But  love  is  the  unknown  quantity,  and  love  had 
entered  into  the  Landers  life.  And  love  is  insepa- 
rably accompanied  by  jealousy.  Jealousy  had 
burned  in  the  heart  of  Landers  from  the  moment 
that  Fannie  Holben  had  first  cautiously  mentioned 
the  name  of  Baird. 

Back  in  the  Tramby,  Landers  slunk  into  the  grill 
like  a  whipped  pup.  He  was  a  whipped  pup.  He'd 
lost  his  head  completely.  Baird  had  turned  from 
a  window,  and  Landers  had  shot  him.  And  then, 
almost  contemptuously,  Baird  had  disarmed  him  and 
ordered  him  out  of  the  office.  Had  Baird  knocked 
him  down  and  handed  him  over  to  the  police,  Lan- 
ders' feelings  would  not  have  been  so  outraged. 

But — what  was  there  to  do  about  it?  Landers 
268 


UNEASY  STREET  269 

had  his  life  to  live.  With  the  pressing  of  the  trig- 
ger that  had  sent  a  bullet  cutting  into  Baird's  arm, 
sanity  had  returned  to  Landers.  He  didn't  want  to 
go  to  the  electric  chair,  or  even  to  jail.  Revenge 
was  all  very  well,  but  where  did  it  get  a  guy? 

He  ordered  his  fifth  high-ball.  The  waiter  who 
served  him  grimaced  at  a  fellow.  Frankie  Landers 
was  on  a  "spree"  again. 

It  lasted  until  Thursday  night.  On  Friday  morn- 
ing, Landers  awoke.  Oddly  enough,  he  didn't  feel 
badly,  all  things  considered.  That  is,  physically. 
Mentally  and  morally,  he  was  much  improved  over 
Tuesday.  He  had  paid  the  debt  due  a  non-under- 
standable emotion — the  emotion  of  shame.  Some 
men  would  have  killed  themselves ;  others  would  have 
killed  Fannie  Holben;  Landers  belonged  to  another 
class,  a  large  one,  by  the  way.  He  got  drunk. 

He  took  the  hottest  bath  that  he  could  stand;  he 
followed  this  with  a  cold  shower,  rubbing  himself 
with  a  coarse  towel  until  it  hurt  his  flesh.  Then  he 
drank  a  tumblerful  of  orange  juice. 

Breakfast  was  light,  but  he  did  manage  to  swallow 
something.  Then  he  went  back  to  bed.  He  awoke 
at  six  in  the  afternoon,  feeling  something  like  his 
old  self.  After  all,  a  two-day  "party"  was  practi- 
cally nothing  to  him. 

Bathed  again,  and  dressed,  even  those  initiate  in 
the  Landers  habits  would  hardly  have  guessed  that 
Frankie  had  been  intoxicated  for  two  days. 

He  dined  alone  in  a  Broadway  restaurant.  He 
ate  heartily,  but  mechanically,  his  mind  far  from 
food. 


270  UNEASY  STREET 

The  situation  amounted  to  this:  Baird  had  been 
"putting  up"  for  Fannie  Holben.  Landers  loved 
Fannie  Holben.  Well? 

There  was  only  one  thing  to  "get"  Baird.  To 
get  him  murderously  was  not  the  thing.  That  had 
been  tried.  Sober  thought  following  upon  the  fail- 
ure had  convinced  Landers  how  foolish  such  attempt 
had  been.  Killing  Baird  wouldn't  win  Fannie  Hol- 
ben. But  getting  Baird  in  another  way — ruining 
him  financially  and  socially. 

He  was  still  dallying  with  this  thought  when  he 
returned  to  the  Tramby.  He  was  so  intent  that  his 
scowling  eyes  refused  to  focus  properly,  and  Jimmy 
Ladd  had  to  speak  to  him  twice  before  surly  recogni- 
tion dawned  in  the  gambler's  eyes.  Also  alarm. 
Baird  worked  for  Jimmy  Ladd,  Landers  had  heard 
nothing  from  his  assault,  as  yet,  but — 

"Where've  you  been  the  last  couple  of  days?" 
demanded  Jimmy. 

Landers  shrugged. 

"Oh,  the  bulls  could  'a'  found  me,  all  right." 

"Were  they  supposed  to  be  looking  for  you?" 
asked  Ladd. 

Landers  shrugged. 

"You  know,"  he  said. 

"You  mean  that  little  matter  in  my  office,  eh?" 
Landers  shrugged  again.  "You  didn't  get  my  note, 
then?" 

"There's  a  bunch  of  mail  and  telephone  messages 
up-stairs,  but  I  haven't  bothered  to  look  at  them." 

"Let's  sit  down,"  said  Jimmy. 

He  led  the  way  to  the  grill.     It  was  deserted  at 


UNEASY  STREET  271 

this  hour,  and  he  waved  away  the  approaching 
waiter. 

"Why  did  you  shoot  Baird?"  he  demanded. 

"Fannie,"  replied  Landers  laconically. 

"You  thought  that  Baird "     He  paused. 

"Was  keeping  her?    Yes." 

"Never  occurred  to  you  that  it  might  be  some 
one  else,  eh?" 

"Who?"  demanded  the  gambler. 

"Well,  myself,  for  instance?" 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  thought  that  she  was  a  little  fool  and 
because  I  am  a  big  fool." 

"Well,  that  reason  goes  for  a  lot  of  things,  and 
women's  one  of  them,"  said  Landers.  "So — it  was 
you?" 

"I  don't  see  you  pulling  any  gun,"  said  Jimmy. 

Landers  spread  his  hands. 

"I'm  off  that.  A  man  ain't  such  a  fool  twice  in 
the  same  way  unless  he's  crazy.  I  ain't  crazy.  You 
seemed  like  a  decent  sort  of  guy,  at  that,  though. 
How  long  you  been  doing  the  rat  act?" 

Jimmy's  eyes  glinted. 

"Let's  go  easy  with  that  sort  of  talk  until  you've 
heard  me  through,"  he  suggested. 

Landers  sneered. 

"I  just  wanted  you  to  know  that  just  because  I've 
quit  starting  anything  doesn't  mean  that  I  ain't 
ready  to  go  through  with  whatever  anyone  else 
starts.  That  rat  stuff  goes.  If  you  don't  like  it, 
holler." 

To  his  surprise,  Jimmy's  eyes  softened ;  he  smiled. 


272  UNEASY  STREET 

"You're  a  regular  person,  after  all,  Landers. 
Listen  to  me.  Fannie  told  me  all  about  borrowing 
money  from  you.  Told  me  the  terms.  She  was  des- 
perate. She  didn't  want  to  marry  anyone.  She 
wanted  to  go  on  the  stage.  I  guessed  her  mood. 
She's  all  right,  but — she  wanted  something — bad! 
To  get  it — well,  if  it  wasn't  I,  it  would  be  some  one 
else.  At  the  moment.  So — I  gave  her  the  money 
she  wanted  and — stayed  away." 

"You  stayed  away,  eh?    Why?" 

Jimmy  blushed. 

"Oh,  let's  say  I'm  not  altogether  a  fool.  I  knew 
that,  if  I  came,  she'd  discover  that  she  wasn't  that 
sort.  Also,  if  I  stayed  away  long  enough,  she'd  dis- 
cover the  same  thing.  I  think  she's  discovered  it  by 
now.  She's  had  time  to  think  it  over.  That's  all 
she  needed.  She  thought  over  the  terms  with  you, 
and — didn't  like  them.  Well — my  terms  were  a  lot 
worse.  If  you  hadn't  jumped  in,  she'd  hare  come 
to  you." 

Landers  rose. 

"I  guess  you  don't  need  any  kisses  on  your  white 
forehead,  do  you,  Mr.  Ladd?  You  know  where  you 
stand  with  me.  Any  time,  anywhere,  any  amount — 
I  guess  I'll  mosey  along  over  to  see  Fannie.  So 
long." 

This  time  he  didn't  walk ;  he  took  a  taxi.  In  five 
minutes  he  was  ringing  Fannie's  bell,  and  in  twenty 
seconds  more  he  was  facing  her. 

"Young  Ladd's  been  to  see  me,"  he  told  her. 
"He's  given  me  the  low-down  on  the  deal." 

She  was  a  rather  woebegone  Fannie.      She  had 


UNEASY  STREET  273 

warned  Baird  of  Landers'  coming  and — waited. 
That  night,  Jimmy  Ladd  had  told  her  of  what  had 
happened.  But  she  had  not  heard  from  Landers. 

"I  packed,  Frankie,"  she  said.  "But — you  didn't 
come  back." 

"I  was  licked,"  he  said  simply.  "This  guy,  Baird 
— I  dunno  what  was  in  my  mind.  I  was  crazy. 
Well,  if  he  got  you,  and  then  trimmed  me,  you 
wouldn't  want  me  back,  and — my  nerve  was  all  gone, 
Fannie." 

He  followed  her  into  the  living-room.  A  trunk, 
closed  and  locked,  was  there.  Landers  pointed  to  it. 

"When?" 

"Soon  as  you  left  me,  Frankie.  I — you  know  I'm 
all  right,  don't  you,  Frankie?" 

"I  know  you're  going  to  be  all  right,"  he  said. 
**Going  to  forget  this  foolishness  about  the  stage?" 

"Whatever  you  say,  Frankie." 

She  was  pathetic  in  her  meekness.  She'd  tried  to 
get  ahead  dishonestly,  and — her  lover  had  tried  to 
kill  Baird.  Shock  had  driven  ambition  from  her 
mind.  She  wanted  peace,  security,  and — Frankie 
Landers  had  tried  to  kill  a  man  because  of  her. 
Even  though  he'd  been  disarmed  and  driven  away, 
whipped,  he'd  tried  to  kill  a  man  because  of  her! 
Any  man  that  would  go  that  far  on  her  account 
must  be — well,  better  a  husband  like  that  than  a 
place  in  front  of  the  chorus. 

Landers  felt  his  self-esteem  coming  back  to  him. 

"Why'd  you  let  me  think  it  was  Baird?  And  if 
it  wasn't  Baird,  why'd  you  go  to  his  rooms  one 
night?  I  want  this  straight,  Fannie." 


274  UNEASY  STREET 

He  was  domineering  now.  She  yielded  before  him, 
and  his  meekness — his  surprising  meekness,  since  he 
had  failed  in  his  attack  on  Baird — gave  way  before 
her  own. 

He  heard  her  all  through.  There  was  no  con- 
demnation in  his  eyes  or  his  speech  at  her  confes- 
sion of  blackmail.  Neither  did  he  upbraid  her  be- 
cause she  had  attempted  to  "double-cross"  him. 
That  was  to  have  been  expected.  Of  course,  now 
that  they  were  to  be  married,  it  was  different.  But 
on  Broadway  it  is  every  man  for  himself,  and  every 
woman  twice  as  much  so. 

"So — that's  it?"  he  said,  when  she  had  finished. 

He  seemed  to  forget  her  presence  as  he  went  to 
the  telephone  and  called  up  Blackmar.  He  spoke 
long. 

"Get  it?"  he  finished.  "We  can't  prove  a  thing, 
but — I  can  make  it  hot  for  him.  I'm  gonna  try, 
anyway." 

"Keep  out  of  it,"  warned  Blackmar.  "Leave  this 
to  me;  I  can  handle  it  twice  as  well." 

"Well,  have  it  your  way,"  grunted  Landers. 

He  hung  up  and  turned  to  Fannie. 

"Put  on  your  hat  and  coat,"  he  commanded. 

"Where  we  going?"  she  asked. 

"You'll  find  out  quick  enough,"  he  said.  "Do 
as  I  tell  you." 

"Frankie?" 

"Well?" 

"You're  going  to  be — you're  going  to  be — 
Frankie,  you  won't w 

His  eyes  softened. 


UNEASY  STREET  275 

"Listen,  kid:  I  wouldn't  marry  you  if  I  didn't  love 
you.  And  you  can  go  all  through  the  Landers  his- 
tory and  you  won't  find  a  one  of  them  that  ever 
beat  his  wife."  He  kissed  her.  Then  he  spoke  again. 
"That  minister  over  Hoboken  way'll  be  in  the  hay, 
kid,  if  we  don't  hustle.  Come  on." 


xxvn 

BAIRD  grunted  as  he  turned  painfully  over  in 
bed.  He  grinned,  too.  He  was  not  so  very 
different  from  the  millions  of  soldiers  of  whom  he 
had  been  one  a  few  weeks  ago.  He  believed,  without 
vanity,  that,  had  he  been  wounded  upon  the  field  of 
battle  as  slightly  as  he  had  been  wounded  by  Lan- 
ders, he  would  have  tied  the  arm  up  with  the  first- 
aid  kit  and  continued  fighting. 

And  now  here  he  was  occasionally  groaning,  and 
fuming  and  fretting  all  the  time.  He  was  permitting 
himself  to  be  sent  to  bed,  even  took  his  own  tem- 
perature. He  visualized  his  future.  In  about  five 
or  six  months,  he'd  wonder  if  that  twinge  in  his 
elbow  was  really  rheumatism  or  not.  He'd  begin  to 
wear  a  red-flannel  band  round  his  tummy,  and  he'd 
massage  himself  on  the  chest  with  pungent,  greasy 
oils  whenever  he  had  a  bit  of  a  cough.  Yes,  and 
he'd  probably  wear  carpet  slippers  round  the  house, 
and  sit,  huddled  up,  near  the  radiator. 

His  grin  became  rueful.  One  can't  visualize  car- 
pet slippers  without  visualizing  home,  and  "home" 
means  a  woman.  Well,  he'd  quit  looking  into  the  fu- 
ture. The  only  woman  in  the  world  had  inherited 
money,  and  she  had  disinherited  friendships  that  had 
been  too  sudden  in  the  making. 

276 


UNEASY  STREET  277 

His  voice  was  petulant  as  he  heard  a  gentle  rap  on 
his  door. 

"Grannan,  I  don't  want  a  thing,  d'y  hear?  All 
I  want  is  for  you  to  go  off  somewhere  and  die." 

"B-r-r-r!    Do  you  bite,  too?" 

He  sat  bolt  upright  in  bed. 

"Eileen !" 

Through  the  door  came  a  gurgle  of  laughter. 

"I  don't  blame  your  man  for  being  so  reluctant 
if  you  always  talk  to  him  like  that." 

"Just  a  mom Eileen,  you  shouldn't  have 

come  here!" 

"That's  why  I  came,"  she  answered. 

He  didn't  bother  to  analyze  the  remark.  He 
couldn't  have.  How  could  he  know  that  Eileen  had 
come  here,  in  defiance  of  the  procedure  ordained  by 
society  for  the  guidance  of  young  females,  because 
only  by  that  coming  could  she  do  sufficient  penance 
for  her  doubts?  He  didn't  even  know  that  Jimmy 
Ladd  had  been  to  see  her  to-night. 

The  elevator-boy  had  looked  at  her  oddly  when 
she  asked  for  the  floor  on  which  Mr.  Baird  lived. 

'Toadies  ain't  permitted  to  call,  ma'am,"  he  said. 

She  colored.  She  didn't  even  try  to  look  haughty. 
She  knew  perfectly  well  that,  in  such  a  place  as 
Derriby's,  nocturnal  visits  of  women  are  frowned 
upon.  She  knew  it,  but  had  not  bothered  to  think 
about  it.  Swept  forward  by  an  emotion  bigger  than 
her  prejudices,  the  little  narrownesses  of  convention 
now  served  to  check  that  emotion.  She  would  have 
turned,  shamefaced,  and  fled,  but  that  a  smooth 
voice  spoke. 


278  UNEASY  STREET 

"Never  you  mind  tellin*  Miss  Baird  that  she  can't 
call,  Kelly,"  said  the  voice.  "There's  rules  and  ex- 
ceptions, too;  exceptions,  Kelly,  mind  that.  Step 
in,  Miss  Baird." 

She  turned  to  meet  the  smirking  features  of  the 
speaker. 

"Mr.  Baird's  been  expecting  you  all  day,  ma'am," 
said  the  man. 

She  shrank  into  the  lift,  and  could  hardly  move 
her  gaze  from  the  smug  face  of  the  uniformed  ser- 
vant who  spoke  to  her.  But,  when  they  reached  the 
top  floor  and  the  elevator  had  descended,  the  servant 
grinned.  Also,  he  winked. 

"No  use  trying  to  explain  things  to  people  like 
Kelly,  ma'am,'*  he  said.  "My  name's  Grannan, 
ma'am.  Valet  to  Mr.  Baird.  Mr.  Baird's  room's 
down  this  way.  When  you're  leaving,  just  walk 
out  like  you  owned  the  place,  miss." 

The  final  "miss"  seemed,  she  felt,  to  render  her 
declassee.  She  wondered  vaguely  if  Grannan  were 
accustomed  to  guiding  women  to  Baird's  rooms. 
And  then  she  felt  guilty,  because  she  had  harbored, 
even  for  a  second,  another  evil  thought  about 
Baird. 

But  when  she  had  knocked  on  the  door  and  had 
heard  Baird's  voice,  all  misgivings  as  to  what  she 
was  doing  left  her.  The  man  on  the  other  side  of 
the  door  was  "mad  about  her."  That  was  the  only 
important  thing  in  the  world.  It  was  sheer  agony 
to  wait  while  Baird  unfastened  the  door. 

He  opened  it  at  last.     About  him  was  drawn  a 


UNEASY  STREET  279 

heavy  bath-robe.  He  had  donned  it  hastily,  in  won- 
derment that  amounted  to  bewilderment. 

"Eileen !    You  shouldn't " 

She  hesitated  on  the  threshold.  His  own  uncer- 
tainty gave  her  apparent  certainty. 

"Do  you  want  me  to  go?"  she  asked. 

His  blank  expression  was  answer  enough.  He 
stepped  aside  as  she  entered  the  room. 

"I  should  think,"  she  said,  as  he  closed  the  door, 
"that  you'd  say  you  were  glad  to  see  me.  Or  do  you 
receive  visitors  so  often?" 

She  was  more  than  flippant;  she  was  cheap — for 
the  moment.  But  Baird  knew  the  reason,  knew  that 
this  nonchalance  but  hid  her  inner  excitement. 

"You  know  that  I  don't,"  he  told  her. 

She  shrugged.  "Your  man  Grannan  didn't  seem 
surprised  at  my  calling." 

"My  man  Grannan  is — capable  of  meeting  a  situ- 
ation," he  replied  lamely.  He  could  not  tell  her  that 
his  man  Grannan  was  keeping  him,  now  that  he  was 
confined  to  his  room,  under  an  espionage  that,  Baird 
thought,  included  opening  his  mail. 

"Apparently  he  is,"  she  said. 

"Yes — capable  man,"  said  Baird. 

"Men  make  wonderful  servants,"  said  Eileen. 
"Much  better  than  women." 

"They  surely  do,"  agreed  Baird. 

He  fumbled  at  his  throat  with  his  right  hand, 
drawing  his  robe  closer.  The  girl  looked  away  from 
him.  She  had  come  upon  the  impulse  of  emotion, 
and — they  were  discussing  the  servant  question. 


280  UNEASY  STREET 

The  color  that  had  begun  to  ebb  from  her  cheeks 
blazed  now.  She,  too,  tumbled  at  her  throat,  loosen- 
ing the  catch  of  her  heavy  coat. 

"May  I  help?"  he  asked. 

He  came  near  to  her.  The  robe  fell  away  from 
one  shoulder  and  she  saw  that  his  left  arm  was  in 
a  sling. 

"You  poor — Rodney!  Jimmy  has  been  to  see 
me  to-night.  I  couldn't  wait.  He  told  me  how." 
She  pointed  at  the  sling. 

Baird  jerked  the  robe's  folds  together. 

"Silly  fool,  Jimmy!  What  did  he  tell  you? 
Might  have  kept  his  mouth  shut.  Can't  see  any 
reason  why " 

"No?  When  I  was  thinking  all  sorts  of  things 
of  you?  Rodney  Baird,  that  sling  is  slipping.  Let 
me  fix  it." 

She  waved  aside  his  protests.  She  made  him  sit 
down  in  a  chair  while  she  adjusted  the  loosened  sling. 
It  was  necessary  for  her  to  remove  her  coat.  Her 
arms,  bare  to  the  shoulder,  went  round  his  neck  while 
her  fingers  fumbled  at  the  knot  of  the  sling. 

How  it  happened  neither  of  them  could  have  told 
five  minutes  later.  Perhaps  it  was  the  touch  of  her 
smooth,  firm  forearms  against  his  cheek;  perhaps 
it  was  a  tendril  of  hair  that  brushed  against  his 
lips ;  perhaps  it  was  the  meeting  of  their  eyes.  Any- 
way, there  was  an  incoherent  moment  when  his  right 
arm  went  about  her,  when  her  lips  met  his,  and  her 
pliant  body  pressed  against  him. 

She  laughed  when  he  released  her.     The  loosened 


UNEASY  STREET  281 

sling  had  been  forgotten  by  both.  Only,  Baird's 
wince,  as  she  leaned  against  the  wounded  arm,  re- 
minded her  of  what  she  had  begun  to  do. 

She  laughed.  In  the  laugh  were  pity,  tenderness, 
the  mirthfulness  of  youth  which  takes  nothing  seri- 
ously, and  the  seriousness  of  maternity  which  takes 
most  things  too  seriously.  For  maternity  begins 
with  love,  not  with  marriage. 

"I'm  afraid  that  you  wouldn't  recommend  me  as 
a  nurse,"  she  said.  "Sit  still!  You  mustn't!  Let 
me  fix " 

He  finally  let  her,  even  to  the  patting  of  the  collar 
of  his  robe  into  correct  position.  Then  she  waved 
away  his  clutching  hand  and  sat  down  opposite  him. 

"Rodney  Baird,  I'm  compromised.  You  know 
that?" 

"Grannan  will  keep  his  mouth  shut.  Besides,  he 
idoesn't  know  you,"  he  told  her.  He  was  uneasily 
conscious  that  perhaps  neither  of  the  statements 
would  hold  good. 

"Gents  what  have  compromised  ladies  are  con- 
fronted by  only  one  honorable  course,"  she  said. 

He  looked  at  her.  Her  hair  was  slightly  tumbled. 
The  flush  that  a  glance  from  him  would  always 
cause  to  rise  to  her  cheeks — until  custom  banished 
the  thrill  it  gave  her — was  in  her  skin  now.  It  was 
not  a  blush;  it  was  the  color  that  comes  from  a 
pulse  beating  above  normal. 

"Will  you  marry  me,  Eileen?"  he  asked. 

She  colored;  he  paled.  It  was  absurd,  despite 
what  had  just  passed,  despite  her  coming  down  here, 
that  she  would  really — • 


282  UNEASY  STREET 

"Perhaps,  when  you've  heard  what  I  have  to  say, 
you  won't  want  to  marry  me."  He  laughed.  It  was 
too  ridiculous!  "Rodney,  for  the  past  week  I've 
been  thinking —  Rodney,  that  Holben  women  has 
no — no  reason  for " 

Well,  he  was  face  to  face  with  it  at  last.  At  last  ? 
It  was  only  a  little  over  two  weeks  ago  that  he  had 
succumbed  to  temptation.  Yet  it  seemed  ages  ago. 

"None  at  all,"  he  assured  her  easily. 

"You  haven't I'm  not  a  girl,  Rodney.  I'm  a 

woman.  If  there's  anything  that " 

"There  isn't  a  thing.  She  had  me  mixed  up  with 
some  one  else,  Eileen.  She  thought  that  she  could 
get  money  from  me.  When  she  discovered  that  she 
couldn't — — "  He  shrugged.  "There  was  abso- 
lutely no  reason  in  the  world  why  she  should 
think " 

"She  said  that  she  could  put  you  in  jail." 

He  smiled. 

"I  think  she's  insane." 

"It  doesn't  matter,  anyway.  What  does  matter 
is  that  I've  doubted,  distrusted.  Jimmy  told  me  to- 
night about  what  you'd  done  for  him.  Kept  quiet 

about  Landers Rodney,  is  there  any  reason  in 

the  world  why  I  shouldn't  marry  you?" 

His  lips  twisted  in  a  queer  crooked  smile. 

"Except  that  maybe  you  don't  care  enough, 
Eileen?" 

It  was  incredibly  easy.  She  apparently  dismissed 
Fannie  Holben  from  her  mind.  Yet,  after  all,  the 
other  things  that  he  had  done  had  been  incredibly 


EILEEN   ROSE 

AND   DROPPED  HIM   A 

COURTESY 


UNEASY  STREET  283 

easy.  From  two  hundred  a  month,  he  had  stepped 
into  two  thousand  a  month.  If  one  had  the  nerve, 
and  intelligence  to  back  that  nerve — 

She  drew  her  brows  together. 

"  'Care  ?'  'Enough  ?'  Do  you  suppose  that  any- 
thing less  than  caring  too  much  would  bring  me 
here  at  this  time  ?  But,  Rodney,  are  you  sure  that — 
I've  sort  of  forced  a  proposal  from  you,  haven't  I?" 

<4You  surely  have — by  your  beauty  and  your 
charm,  my  dear." 

Eileen  rose  and  dropped  him  a  courtesy.  She 
looked  unbelievably  young  in  the  simple  little  white 
dinner  dress. 

"Help  me  on  with  my  coat,  Rodney.  I — after 
Jimmy  left — I  couldn't  sleep  until  I'd — seen  you. 
Oh,  Rodney. " 

The  last  was  a  sigh,  a  sigh  of  surrender.  More 
than  that,  it  was  the  sigh  of  conquest,  the  long- 
drawn  breath  that  follows  strife.  For  no  woman  is 
married  until  she  has  striven  both  for  and  against 
the  urge  of  love.  So  is  surrender  conquest,  too. 

This  time,  he  did  not  draw  her  to  him  savagely. 
Gently  he  put  his  arm  about  her;  placidly,  almost, 
she  suffered  him  to  do  so.  His  lips  were  caressing 
her  hair  when  a  knock  upon  the  door  drove  them 
apart. 

"Eh?    Who  is  it?"  he  called. 

"Blackmar,"  came  the  answer.  "Can  you  see  me, 
Baird?" 

Within  the  room,  the  two  stared  at  each  other. 
Her  lips  framed  a  whispered  question:  "What  does 
Sam  want  with  you?" 


284  UNEASY  STREET 

He  shook  his  head.  Perspiration  moistened  the 
forehead  that  he  fought  to  free  from  a  frown. 

Panic  appeared  in  her  eyes.  It  was  all  very  well 
to  defy  convention,  but — she  didn't  want  Blackmar 
to  find  her  here. 

"Come  around  to-morrow,"  called  Baird.  "I " 

"  'To-morrow !' r  Blackmar's  voice  was  fierce. 
"You'll  see  me  now,  Baird,  or  I'll  come  back  with 
a  search-warrant.  Get  me?" 

Eileen  had  just  yielded  herself  to  Baird's  arms. 
His  kisses  were  fresh  upon  her  lips.  Yet  in  her  heart 
something  leaped — something  that  was  neither  love 
nor  fear — but  suspicion. 

"I'll  hide  in  your  room,"  she  whispered. 

She  eluded  his  clutch.  She  tiptoed  through  the 
doorway  that  led  into  the  bedroom.  The  door 
gently  closed  behind  her. 

Baird's  shoulders  sagged.  A  few  nights  ago,  to 
avoid  Jimmy  Ladd,  Fannie  Holben  had  slipped  into 
this  same  bedroom.  It  was  like  a  farce,  only — it 
was  offensive  that  Eileen  should  be  coupled,  even 
in  thought,  with  the  Holben  girl. 

But  matters  of  taste  could  be  dismissed.  More 
vital  things  loomed  ahead.  What  did  Blackmar 
want?  What  would  he  say  that,  overheard  by 
Eileen —  Well,  she  couldn't  be  fooled  long.  Sooner 
or  later,  she'd  have  had  to  know. 

He  was  coldly  civil  as  he  opened  the  door  and 
admitted  Blackmar. 


XXVIII 

FOR  once,  Blackmar  was  not  immaculate.  There 
was  a  red  line  on  his  forehead,  where  his  hat 
had  been  pulled  too  tightly.  His  mustache  was  still 
the  toothbrush  sort,  but  it  was  a  well-worn  one,  with 
its  bristles  straggly.  His  tie  had  been  hastily 
knotted  and  had  slipped  to  one  side  in  the  collar, 
exposing  the  edge  of  the  gold  button.  Also,  in  fas- 
tening his  waistcoat,  he  had  not  taken  care  that 
the  holes  and  the  buttons  matched. 

The  cool  calm  that  Baird  had  envied,  that  air 
of  slight  boredom  that  had  been  so  insufferable, 
were  gone  to-night.  These  things,  queerly,  had  ren- 
dered him  colorless.  Their  absence  defined  him,  gave 
him  character.  A  dozen  character-analysts  could 
not  have  explained  so  clearly  to  Baird  the  reason 
for  Blackmar's  success  in  life  as  this  view  of  him 
as  he  entered  the  apartment.  For,  while  he  gave 
no  particular  impression  of  strength,  he  did  give  an 
impression  of  energy. 

For  a  moment,  Blackmar  did  not  speak.  It 
seemed  to  Baird  that  he  was  striving  to  regain  that 
poise  which  was  absent  to-night. 

"Nice  place  you  have  here,  Baird,"  he  said  finally. 

Baird  carefully  unbuttoned  the  top  of  his  robe. 
Then  he  buttoned  it  again.  He  leaned  against  the 
mantel. 

285 


286  UNEASY  STREET 

In  the  next  room  was  Eileen — Eileen,  who  had 
just  told  him  that  she  loved  him,  had  consented 
to  marry  him.  And  here  was  Blackmar,  who,  doubt- 
less, would  make  charges  that  would  damn  Baird 
forever  with  Eileen.  Well,  let  him! 

"Like  it?"  he  asked  easily. 

Blackmar's  mouth  lifted  at  one  corner. 

"It's  rather  different  from  one  room  in  a  board- 
ing-house, isn't  it?" 

"Why?  Do  you  live  in  a  boarding-house?"  asked 
Baird. 

"That's  excellent  repartee,"  said  Blackmar. 
"But,  Baird,  you've  played  the  string  out." 

"Yes?     What  string?" 

"Oh,  the  string  that  you  thought  would  lead  to 
God  knows  what.  I'll  say  one  thing  for  you,  Baird : 
you  have  ambition." 

"That's  kind  of  you,"  commented  Baird.  Some- 
thing instinctively  told  him  not  to  let  his  temper 
get  loose.  If  Blackmar  became  more  angry,  so  much 
more  advantage  might  lie  with  Baird. 

"Yes;  I  think  it  is.  I  think  it's  most  decent  of 
me.  I  ought  to  call  for  Derriby,  tell  him  what  you 
are,  and  have  you  thrown  out  of  here." 

Baird  straightened  up  and  faced  Blackmar. 

"I  wouldn't  talk  too  much  of  throwing  out,  Black- 
mar.  You  might  put  ideas  into  my  head." 

Blackmar  laughed. 

"It's  no  use,  Baird.     I've  got  the  goods  on  you." 

"That's  interesting.  Would  you  mind  explain- 
ing?" 

"Are  you  sure  that  you  want  me  to?     Wouldn't 


UNEASY  STREET  287 

you  prefer  to  have  me  say  nothing  except,  maybe, 
'Much  obliged*  when  you  hand  over  what  belongs 
to  me?" 

Baird  laughed  this  time.  He  hoped  that  it  rang 
true  to  the  listener  in  the  next  room. 

"Yes;  I  want  you  to.  It  promises  to  be  inter- 
esting." 

Blackmar  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"You  know,  Baird,  I'm  tempted  to  admire  you. 
You  have  nerve,  even  if  you  are  a  thief." 

Baird  could,  in  fancy,  hear  the  gasp  that  must 
come  from  Eileen's  throat.  He  almost  staggered  be- 
neath the  word.  It  was  the  word  that  he  had 
avoided,  the  word  that  he  had  refused  to  frame,  even 
mentally.  For  he  wasn't  a  thief.  One  could  be  a 
thief  only  when  one  had  the  intent  to  steal,  and  he 
had  never  had  that.  Even  now,  with  the  word  ring- 
ing in  his  ears,  he  summoned  to  his  aid  those  soph- 
istries that  had  comforted  him  during  the  past 
seventeen  days.  And,  in  the  next  room,  Eileen  had 
heard ! 

His  voice  sounded  odd  to  himself  when  he  spoke. 
He  knew  that  his  face  was  pale  and  that  his  fingers 
twitched  for  Blackmar's  throat.  But  Eileen  was  in 
the  next  room.  There  must  be  no  open  scandal. 

"Just  explain,  please,  Blackmar.  You've  been 
odd  enough  in  your  manner  before  this.  We'll  have 
it  out  now,  if  you  don't  mind.  Then  I'll  have  some- 
thing to  say  about  your  choice  of  words." 

"'Have  it  out  now?'"  Blackmar's  amazement 
was  unfeigned.  "Good  God,  Baird ;  do  you  think  to 
bluff  it  through?  Don't  you  suppose  that  I  know?" 


288  UNEASY  STREET 

"Know  what?" 

Blackmar  stared.  Then  he  smiled  contemptu- 
ously. 

"I  should  think  it  would  be  enough  for  you  that 
I  know,  but  if  you  want  proof — a  canvas  trunk,  con- 
taining two  hundred  and  three  thousand  and  some- 
odd  dollars " 

"Why  not  be  exact?  This  is  proof  that  you're 
offering,  you  know."  Baird's  laugh  was  exquisitely 
balanced  between  amusement  and  amazement.  The 
end  had  undoubtedly  come.  Well,  he'd  meet  it  fight- 
ing. He'd  not  concede  an  inch.  He  squared  his 
shoulders  beneath  the  bath-robe. 

"Two  hundred  and  three  thousand  and  eight  hun- 
dred dollars,  then,"  said  Blackmar.  "It  was  put  in 
your  room  at  the  Hotel  Tramby  early  New  Year's 
morning." 

"By  whom?"  demanded  Baird. 

"Frankie  Landers.  He  meant  to  put  it  in  an- 
other room." 

Baird  laughed  again. 

"Well,  of  course,  New  Year's  morning  is  New 
Year's  morning.  Go  on,  please.  What  happened 
then?" 

"I'll  get  to  that,"  said  Blackmar. 

"No;  let's  go  back  a  bit  first,  if  you  please. 
Granting  that  your  friend  Landers  had  a  trunk 
and  that  the  trunk  which  you  claim  he  had  held 
that  money — how  did  he  happen  to  have  it?" 

"It  was  meant  for  some  one  else.  It  was  a — 
payment,"  said  Blackmar.  Baird  caught  his  slight 
hesitation. 


UNEASY  STREET  289 

"Go  ahead,"  he  said. 

"You  came  home.  You  found  that  trunk.  You 
put  it  in  your  own  trunk.  A  couple  of  days  later, 
you  moved  over  here,  taking  the  money  with  you." 

"And  the  trunk?" 

"And  the  trunk,"  said  Blackmar. 

"I  can  assure  you  that  I  haven't  expressed  any 
trunk  away  from  here.  And  it  isn't  here  now," 
challenged  Baird. 

"I  know  that  well  enough.  Don't  think  I'm  in- 
sinuating that  you're  a  fool,  Baird.  'Thief  was  the 
word  I  used." 

"Yes;  I  heard  you  the  other  time,"  said  Baird. 
"I  haven't  answered  yet,  Blackmar." 

"No;  and  I  hardly  think  you  will."  He  tossed 
his  cigarette  in  the  fireplace  and  lighted  another. 
"Of  course  the  trunk  isn't  here.  But  shortly  after 
you  moved  in  here,  you  left  with  a  bundle.  That 
bundle  might  have  held  the  broken  remains  of  a 
trunk.  The  man  who  cleaned  your  rooms  discovered 
splinters  of  wood  on  the  floor." 

"Grannan?"  asked  Baird. 

"Yes." 

"So — you  made  a  detective  of  Grannan.  What 
next?" 

"There  wasn't  much  next — until  half  an  hour 
ago." 

"What  happened  thenF* 

"Fannie  Holben  told  Frankie  Landers  all  she 
knew.  Baird,  it's  no  use.  I  know  your  record.  I 
know  what  salary  you  earned  in  Donchester.  I 
know  how  much  you  got  for  the  piece  of  land  you 


290  UNEASY  STREET 

sold  a  fortnight  ago.  And  it  wasn't  enough  to  pay 
for  the  pin  that  you  bought  for  Miss  Elsing." 

"Still,  I  might  have  had  some  other  money,"  sug- 
gested Baird. 

"You  might — but  you  didn't.  Where'd  you  get 
it?" 

"Men  have  been  known  to  save  from  their  salaries. 
Mind,  I'm  not  saying  that  I  did.  I'm  not  saying 
anything.  I'm  merely  asking  you  if  you  are  sure 
that  I  couldn't  have  had  some  other  money?" 

"Sure  enough,"  said  Blackmar.  "Are  you  com- 
ing through,  Baird?" 

"And  if  I  don't?" 

'Til  go  to  Ladd." 

"Do  you  think  Ladd  will  believe  you?" 

Blackmar  sneered  again. 

"I  think  so.  You  know,  Baird,  you're  a  pre- 
possessing young  man  and  all  that,  but  suppose 
Ladd  asked  you  to  show  him  some  proof  of  financial 
responsibility — you  wouldn't  care  for  him  to  do 
that?" 

"  'Proof,'  eh?"  Baird  summoned  amusement  to 
his  eyes.  "I  thought  that  you  were  going  to  ad- 
vance proof,  Blackmar." 

Blackmar  stared  at  him.     He  spoke  slowly. 

"You're  certainly  no  fool,  Baird.  You  have 
nerve,  but — you  know  you  can't  get  away  with  this. 
And — Landers  was  willing  to  pay  fifty  thousand  a 
couple  of  weeks  ago.  I'll  pay  that  now.  And — I'll 
keep  still." 

It  was  temptation.  Only — Eileen  was  in  the  next 
room.  Further,  his  salary  from  Jimmy  Ladd  was 


UNEASY  STREET  291 

due  in  two  weeks.  A  few  months  of  that  salary,  and 
he  could  replace  the  money  that  he  had  used,  could 
deny  that  he  had  ever  touched  a  penny  of  it. 

To  accept  a  bribe  now — even  if  Eileen  were  not 
within  hearing — 

"Blackmar,  if  you — or  Landers — lost  two  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars,  why  didn't  you  go  to  the 
police?" 

"That's  our  business !"  snapped  Blackmar.  "Baird, 
better  listen.  Until  I  knew  that  you'd  taken  that 
money — well,  I  could  wait.  Now  that  I  know — 
Baird,  you'd  better  settle.  You  don't  know  this 
man's  town.  Things  happen  here.  For  instance, 
Derriby's  is  a  rather  strict  place,  you  know." 

"Well?"    Baird  felt  his  forehead  grow  warm. 

"Oh,  you  have  other  ambitions  than  financial. 
Suppose  that  you  were  kicked  out  of  Derriby's  in 
the  middle  of  the  night  because  some  light  piece  were 
found  in  your  rooms.  It  would  make  nice  reading 
in  the  morning.  Miss  Elsing  might  happen  to  see 
it." 

Baird  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"Blackmar,  you're  pretty  low." 

"How  about  yourself?  Having  your  mistress  in 
here  while  you're  trying  to  marry  Miss  Elsing!  A 
cheap  little  bookkeeper,  four  flushing,  pretending  to 
have  money.  Having  money,  but  stolen  money !" 

"All  through?"     Baird's  voice  was  low. 

"'Through?'  I  haven't  begun  yet.  You  took 
that  money " 

"But  he  says  that  he  didn't  take  it,  Sam." 

Wheeling,  Blackmar  faced  Eileen.      She  was  as 


292  UNEASY  STREET 

white  as  the  dress  she  wore.  She  stood  in  the  door- 
way, one  hand  upon  the  knob  of  the  door  that  she 
had  just  opened.  For  a  moment,  she  stared  at 
Blackmar.  Then  she  turned  to  Baird. 

His  heart  leaped.  Instead  of  the  look  of  con- 
tempt that  he  had  expected,  his  eyes  met  a  look  of 
faith,  of  trust. 

"I  had  to  come  out,"  she  said.  "I  couldn't  stay 
there  and  let  Sam  think — Sam" — she  addressed 
Blackmar — "I've  heard  every  word  you've  said." 

"Then  you've  heard  things  that  should  prevent 
your  making  a  fool  of  yourself !"  snapped  Blackmar. 

Her  eyes  narrowed. 

"Sam,  if  what  you  say  is  true — not  that  Rodney 
took  the  money,  but  that  it  was  put  in  some  hotel 
room — why  was  it  put  there?" 

"Does  that  matter?"  countered  Blackmar. 

"Why  haven't  you  gone  to  the  police?  Sam,  it 
doesn't  sound  good  to  me." 

"Because  you  have  a  silly  faith  in  Baird.  Be- 
cause you're  deceived  by  an  impostor  who " 

"Never  mind  abuse,  Sam.  Why  haven't  you  gone 
to  the  police?" 

"  'The  police  ?'  "  Blackmar  was  upon  the  defen- 
sive already.  "There  are  reasons,  Eileen." 

She  laughed  scornfully. 

"They  must  be  imperative  reasons,  Sam.  Two 
hundred  thousand  is  a  lot  of  money." 

For  a  moment,  it  seemed  that  Blackmar  would 
make  some  hot  retort.  Then  he  shrugged. 

"I  seem  to  be  outvoted,  Eileen.     You  and  Baird 


UNEASY  STREET  293 

together •  I  take  it,  Eileen,  that  you  don't  be- 
lieve me." 

"I  believe  that  you  have  lost  money.  But  that 
Rodney  took  it — no!" 

"I  congratulate  you,  Baird,"  said  Blackmar.  He 
looked  about  the  room,  found  his  hat  where  he  had 
placed  it  upon  a  chair,  picked  it  up,  and  walked  to 
the  door.  "Still — "  and  he  paused  on  the  threshold 
— "life  is  a  long  and  uncertain  proposition,  Baird. 
Two  hundred  thousand  is  a  fortune,  yes.  But — is 
it  worth  it?  Others  beside  myself  are  interested  in 
that  fortune.  They  aren't  the  meekest  men  in  the 
world.  The  next  time  I  see  you,  Baird,  perhaps — 
Oh,  well,"  he  looked  at  Eileen.  "Have  I  ever  lied 
to  you,  Eileen?" 

"Why,  no,  Sam." 

"Have  I  ever  questioned  your  motives?" 

"No."  She  was  puzzled.  Baird  grew  a  little 
uneasy. 

"I  don't  question  them  now,  Eileen.  I  know  that 
you've  been  carried  away.  That's  all  right.  All  of 
us  make  mistakes.  I  don't  even  care  why  you're 
here.  But — please,  because  I  never  have  lied  to 
you,  because  I  have  never  questioned  or  doubted 
you,  please  do  this  much  for  me — wait." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Sam?" 

"I  mean,  think  it  over  before  you  marry  Baird. 
Wait.  He's  a  thief.  Oh,  I  can't  prove  it,  but — 
he's  a  thief  just  the  same." 

"Sam!"  She  spoke  before  Baird  could.  Anger, 
steely,  outraged  anger  was  in  the  monosyllable. 

Blackmar  shrugged.    He  hesitated  a  moment,  then 


294  UNEASY  STREET 

passed  through  the  door.  They  heard  the  ring  of 
the  elevator-bell. 

"Wait  until  I  dress,  Eileen,"  said  Baird.  He 
started  for  the  bedroom.  She  detained  him. 

"Think  I'd  let  you  out  with  your  bad  arm?"  she 
asked. 

"You  must,"  he  said. 

He  closed  the  door  of  the  bedroom  behind  him. 
His  head  whirled.  Eileen  believed  him.  Further, 
Blackmar  had  exposed  the  weakness  of  the  claimants 
to  the  money.  They  didn't  dare  go  to  the  police. 
He  was  safe. 

Another  thought  came  to  him:  How  could  he  ever 
return  the  money  now?  It  would  damn  him  forever 
to  do  so.  He  breathed  deeply.  Well,  why  think 
about  returning  it?  Blackmar  couldn't,  or  wouldn't 
— it  came  to  the  same  thing — prove  his  title. 

Always  it  had  been  his  intention  to  seek  out  the 
rightful  owner  when  he  had  replaced  what  portion 
of  it  he  had  used.  But  now  a  new,  an  unexpected 
angle  had  obtruded  itself  upon  him.  How  could  he 
return  the  money?  If  only  Eileen  had  not  over- 
heard ! 

It  did  not  do  to  tell  himself  that  he  needn't  think 
about  returning  it.  Blackmar's  epithet  had  burned 
into  his  spirit.  He  was  not  a  thief!  He  would  not 
keep  the  money ! 

It  was  almost  amusing.  He  was  more  frightened 
now  at  the  prospect  of  being  compelled,  in  self- 
defence,  to  retain  the  money  than  he  had  ever  been 
at  the  prospect  of  discovery. 

But  there  must  be  a  way  out.     There  had  to  be 


UNEASY  STREET  295 

a  way  out.  Only — no  way  out  that  he  could  see  led 
also  to  Eileen.  If  she  knew —  But  she  believed  in 
him.  Later,  he'd  figure —  He  was  not  a  thief.  Cir- 
cumstances could  not  make  him  one. 

He  thrilled  again  as  he  kissed  her  just  before 
they  left.  There  was  trust,  faith,  in  the  way  her 
lips  clung  to  his.  But  her  eyes  were  slightly  filmed. 
She  trusted  him.  He  knew  that;  in  the  moment  of 
love's  acknowledgment  she  would  not  question.  But 
by  and  by —  He  talked  feverishly  all  the  way  down- 
stairs to  the  taxi. 


XXIX 

ONCE  in  the  machine,  he  became  silent.  Eileen 
was  no  ordinary  girl.  She  was  the  product  of 
her  day  and  generation.  There  still  remained  in 
the  world,  of  course,  sweet  little  women  who  did  not 
read  the  newspapers,  and  thought  business  was  so 
tiresome  and  woman's  place  was  in  the  home  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  But  Eileen  was  not  that  kind. 
She  could  love ;  she  could  have  faith,  but  love  would 
never  make  a  fool  of  her — her  faith  was  the  sort 
that  requires  a  basis. 

He  could,  he  had  no  doubt,  convince  her  that 
Blackmar  was  in  the  grip  of  a  most  amazing  error. 
But  if  he  began  to  attempt  that  convincing  before 
he'd  weighed  all  the  evidence  as  carefully  as  Eileen 
would  later  on  weigh  it,  he'd  surely  make  admis- 
sions that  would  hurt. 

But  Eileen,  just  now,  was  in  no  mood  to  analyze 
the  man  that  she  loved,  who  was  "mad  about  her." 
At  the  moment,  she  had  all  that  she  craved :  Baird's 
arm  about  her  shoulders  and  her  head  upon  his 
breast.  So,  like  any  clerk  taking  his  girl  home  from 
the  theater,  they  rode  up  Fifth  Avenue  and  across 
Fifty-ninth  Street. 

Baird  would  have  left  her  at  her  apartment. 
Common  sense  told  him  to  go.  But  when  did  com- 

296 


UNEASY  STREET  297 

mon  sense  run  better  than  second  when  it  was  op- 
posed to  the  invitation  in  a  lady's  eyes? 

He  went  in  with  her.  The  telephone-bell  was  ring- 
ing as  they  entered,  and  Eileen,  with  a  muttered 
hope  that  Mrs.  Kelton  would  not  be  awakened,  ran 
down  the  hall  to  answer  it. 

It  was  Jimmy  Ladd. 

"Forgive  me,  old  dear,"  he  said.  "Hope  I  didn't 
wake  you." 

"You  didn't,"  she  told  him. 

"I  called  up,"  said  Jimmy,  "because  I  just  hap- 
pened to  think  that  you  might  know  where  Baird  is. 
I  just  went  down  to  see  him,  and  they  told  me  he'd 
gone  out  with  a  lady." 

"I'm  the  lady,  sir." 

"I  thought  so.  Snappy  little  scandal  on  the  way, 
eh?  Baird  there  now?" 

"He  is." 

"Scandal  gets  more  scandalous.  Mind  my  com- 
ing up  and  playing  chaperon?  Suppose  you've 
kissed  and  made  up  and  all  that.  Oh,  well,  I'd  like 
to  see  you  both." 

"Come  up,"  she  invited. 

"Jimmy's  coming,"  she  told  Baird,  as  she  entered 
the  living-room. 

"Eh?     Up  here?" 

"That's  what  I  said.    Jealous?" 

"Awfully,"  he  said.  He  kissed  her,  her  face  so 
close  to  his  she  could  not  note  the  exultation  in  his 
eyes.  For,  while  she  had  been  telephoning,  common 
sense  had  reasserted  itself.  The  less  he  saw  of 


298  UNEASY  STREET 

Eileen  alone  until  he  had  planned  his  story,  the  bet- 
ter for  him. 

For  he  was  in  for  it — in  for  it  up  to  his  eyes. 
He  wanted  her;  he  wouldn't  give  her  up!  It  had 
been  necessary  to  take  money  that  wasn't  his  own 
to  advance  his  first  acquaintance.  It  was  necessary 
to  lie  to  further  that  acquaintance  until  it  was  mar- 
riage. Well,  he  hadn't  balked  at  the  first;  he'd  not 
balk  at  the  second. 

But,  to  his  relief,  she  asked  no  questions.  She  sat 
beside  him,  carefully  arranging  a  cushion  against  his 
crippled  arm,  and  let  herself  relax.  It  was  sweet, 
leaning  against  him,  letting  his  strength  become  her 
own.  Blackmar  and  the  scene  in  which  he  had  just 
enacted  a  prominent  part  faded  out  of  her  con- 
sciousness. She  did  not  even  bother  to  wonder  why 
Jimmy  Ladd,  who  had  dined  with  her  this  evening, 
should  wish  to  call  again.  Yet  she  knew  Jimmy  well 
enough  to  know  that  when  he  was  apparently  most 
nonchalant,  he  was  in  reality  most  serious.  His 
conversation  over  the  telephone  would  ordinarily 
have  aroused  her  curiosity.  But  not  to-night.  She 
was  too  completely  under  the  sway  of  Baird's 
personality. 

She  jumped  up  as  the  door-bell  rang.  She  ex- 
claimed with  dismay  lest  her  sudden  start  had  hurt 
Baird's  wounded  arm.  She  kissed  him  again.  Then, 
patting  her  hair  into  place,  she  went  down  the  hall 
and  opened  the  door.  Jimmy  entered  silently.  He 
spoke  no  word  until,  his  hat  and  coat  hung  up,  he 
reached  the  living-room.  Then,  feet  wide  apart,  he 
stood  before  the  gaslog  and  surveyed  them. 


UNEASY  STREET  299 

"Well,  it's  all  settled,  I  perceive.  My  warm  felici- 
tations, children.  Baird's  the  second-best  match 
you  could  have  made,  Eileen." 

"The  first  being?"  she  laughed. 

"James  McPherson  Ladd,  junior,  at  your  ser- 
vice, ma'am.  Oh,  well,  if  I  won't  do  as  a  husband, 
I'll  make  a  fine  godfather." 

"Jimmy!"  But  it  did  no  good  to  be  shocked. 
Jimmy  merely  grinned. 

"I  can  see  myself  dousing  the  young  'un  in  the 
font — that  what  they  use?  Yes,  font.  Little  James 
LaddBaird!" 

"Jimmy,  go  home,"  said  Eileen. 

"I'll  stop  it,"  he  said.  He  held  out  his  hand  to 
Baird.  "Some  rapid  worker,  feller.  Well,  you  de- 
serve her." 

The  pressure  of  his  fingers  was  like  a  tightening 
coil  of  circumstance.  This  further  evidence  of 
Jimmy's  friendship,  this  warm  congratulation,  made 
it  but  the  harder  to  confess — made  it  impossible! 

"Thanks,  Jimmy,"  he  muttered. 

"And  don't  I  get  any  congratulation?"  demanded 
Eileen. 

Jimmy  laughed. 

"That's  the  woman  of  it.     All  vanity." 

"  'Vanity  ?'  I  think  it  is  modest  of  me,"  said 
Eileen. 

Ladd  laughed  again. 

"You  women  are  funny,  Eileen.  It  isn't  suffi- 
ciently flattering  to  your  vanity  that  the  man  should 
be  complimented  because  he  has  been  lucky  enough 
to  win  such  a  feminine  prize ;  the  woman  wants  to  be 


300  UNEASY  STREET 

congratulated  because  her  attractions  were  great 
enough  to  land  so  desirable  a  husband." 

"Not  much  logic  to  that  remark,"  sniffed  Eileen. 

Jimmy  pondered  a  moment. 

"Well,  perhaps  there  isn't.  Think  it  over, 
though."  He  turned  to  Baird.  "Time  you  were  in 
bed,  feller.  Fine  wife  you'll  make,  Eileen — letting 
a  sick  man  out  this  way!" 

"I  couldn't  help  it,"  she  excused.     "He  insisted." 

"Well,  I'll  do  a  little  insisting,  then.  I  knew 
blamed  well  that  if  Baird  were  here,  he'd  stick  around 
until  morning.  You  two  idiots The  conve- 
nances mean  darned  little  to  you  two  love-birds, 
don't  they?  You,  Eileen,  going  to  Baird's  rooms, 

and  bringing  Baird  home It's  late;  come  on, 

Rod." 

Considerately  he  walked  down  the  hall  while  the 
couple  bade  each  other  good-by. 

Outside,  he  gave  the  address  to  the  taximan  who 
had  been  waiting  for  him.  He  held  the  door  for 
Baird.  He  was  suddenly  taciturn.  Baird  welcomed 
the  mood.  He  was  tired.  His  wound  was  a  scratch, 
but  it  did  ache  a  little,  and  reaction  from  excitement 
and  strain  set  in. 

He  was  sleepy  when  they  reached  his  rooms. 
Jimmy  went  along  up-stairs  with  him. 

"Mind  if  I  stick  round  long  enough  for  a  smoke?" 
he  asked. 

"Tickled  to  death,"  said  Baird. 

Jimmy  lighted  a  cigarette.  He  slumped  down  in 
a  chair  and  idly  watched  Baird  as  the  latter  divested 
himself  of  his  outer  clothing.  His  eyes  were  half 


UNEASY  STREET  301 

closed  when,  pa  jama-clad,  Baird  came  back  from  the 
bedroom. 

"It's  a  funny  world,"  said  Jimmy. 

"Yes?" 

"Uh-huh.  Queer  things.  Oh,  you'll  hear  about  it 
sooner  or  later.  I  thought  I  ought  to  tell  Eileen, 
but  I  couldn't.  You'll  have  to."  Baird  stared  at 
him,  his  mouth  open.  "Blackmar  shot  himself  to- 
night." 

The  air  almost  whistled  through  Baird's  lips,  so 
heavy  was  his  exhalation.  He  could  not  speak,  could 
only  look  the  question. 

"At  the  Graduates.  I  strolled  in  there  and  heard 
all  about  it.  Aimed  for  his  heart." 

"Dead?"     Baird  whispered  the  question. 

Ladd  shook  his  head. 

"No;  not  seriously  hurt  at  all.  A  steward  got 
the  gun  from  him  before  he  could  try  a  second  shot. 
Bullet  glanced  off  his  ribs.  It'll  be  all  over  town  to- 
morrow. Hope  it  keeps  out  of  the  papers.  It  will 
ruin  Blackmar." 

"He Where  is  he?"  asked  Baird.  That  is, 

his  lips  asked  the  question;  his  mind  framed  a  score 
of  others,  framed  a  hundred  excuses,  defenses,  which, 
however,  he  had  sense  enough  not  to  utter. 

"At  the  club.  Oh,  he's  O.K.  Asleep  when  I  left 
there.  Unless  the  club  servants  talk,  there'll  be  no 
public  scandal." 

"Do  you  know — why?"  asked  Baird. 

Jimmy  eyed  him. 

"Good  Lord,  I  should  think  you'd  know!" 

"I?     Why?" 


302  UNEASY  STREET 

Jimmy  shrugged. 

"You've  got  the  girl  he  wants." 

Baird  breathed  again. 

"You  think  that " 

"What  else  could  it  be?  That's  the  only  thing 
that's  been  on  Sam's  soul  so  far  as  I  know."  He 
tossed  away  his  cigarette.  "That's  why  I  wanted 
to  get  hold  of  you  and  Eileen  quickly.  Blackmar 
came  to  his  senses  as  soon  as  the  steward  had  yanked 
the  gun  away  from  him.  He  vows  it  was  an  acci- 
dent. But  if  Eileen's  engagement  should  be  an- 
nounced, there'd  never  be  a  chance  in  the  world  of 
hushing  it  up.  Too  many  people  know  that  he  was 
in  love  with  her,  almost  engaged  to  her.  So,  break 
it  to  her  in  the  morning." 

Baird  merely  stared.  He  had  been  reprieved 
again.  He  had  supposed  that  the  money  in  the  can- 
vas trunk  might  have  had  something  to  do  with 
Blackmar's  act. 

"Blackmar  sure  had  it  in  for  you,"  said  Jimmy. 

"Why?"  Again  Baird  felt  an  almost  physical 
shock. 

"Did  he  mention  me  after " 

"No,  of  course  not.  Sam's  a  gentleman,  what- 
ever else  he  may  be.  Certainly  not.  But  he'd  said 
something  to  Eileen  about  you.  I  bawled  her  out 
for  paying  any  attention  to  it.  In  fact,  feller,  if 
you're  handing  out  any  credit  for  your  early  en- 
gagement, don't  overlook  James  McPherson  Ladd, 
junior.  She'd  never  have  come  down  here  to-night 
if  I  hadn't  put  the  idea  into  her  head.  I  told  her 
exactly  the  sort  you  were.  Oh,  she  knew  it!  She'd 


UNEASY  STREET  303 

have  sent  for  you  sooner  or  later,  but  a  bliss  de- 
ferred is  a  bliss  deferred.  Say,  "Thank  you,'  Rod." 

"You  know  I  do,"  said  Baird. 

"Well,  you're  a  lucky  pup,"  said  Jimmy.  "Eileen 
is  the  best.  Poor  Sam!  She  didn't  use  him  quite 
right.  Oh,  don't  take  offense  when  there's  none 
meant.  Eileen  is  human  and  a  woman.  Women  have 
no  conscience  about  men.  They  use  'em,  and — 
throw  'em  away.  God  bless  'em.  I  hope  they  all  run 
true  to  form  and  throw  me  away."  He  chuckled 
cheerfully.  "I'm  destined  to  be  an  old  bachelor, 
Rod.  For  about  five  years  you're  going  to  have  pity 
for  me.  Then,  one  day,  when  you  see  me  with  a  flock 
of  chickens  gathered  round,  you're  going  to  won- 
der. Oh,  you'll  be  happy.  No  question  about  that. 
Eileen  is  a  wonder,  best  there  is.  But — you're  go- 
ing to  wonder.  You  wouldn't  trade  places  with  me 
for  anything.  You'll  have  Eileen  and  the  kiddies 
let's  hope — and  home  life  and  everything.  But  me 
for  bachelorhood.  Isn't  Blackmar  a  fool?"  he  de- 
manded suddenly. 

Baird  made  no  reply. 

"I'll  say  he  is,"  went  on  Jimmy.  "My  Lord,  the 
world  is  full  of  wonderful  girls!"  He  shrugged. 
"I  suppose,  though,  Blackmar's  getting  old.  His 
vision  fails.  He  can  only  see  one  person.  Now,  me 
— I  can  see  a  million.  Well,  I've  kept  you  up  long 
enough.  See  Eileen  in  the  morning  and — just  tell 
her  about  Sam.  Poor  devil!  So  long,  Rod!" 

He  was  abruptly  gone.  Baird  sat  down  on  the 
edge  of  his  bed.  He  put  the  chain  of  events  to- 
gether. It  was  not  his  fault  that  Eileen  preferred 


304  UNEASY  STREET 

him  to  Blackmar.  How  could  he  be  responsible  for 
Blackmar's  attempted  suicide? 

But  the  answer  came  clearly.  If  he  hadn't  taken 
that  money,  he'd  never  have  continued  his  acquain- 
tance with  Eileen,  would  never  have  been  able  to 
win  her.  And  if  he  hadn't  won  her,  Blackmar  would 
not  have  tried  to  kill  himself. 

To  kill  himself!  He  suddenly  blanched.  If 
Blackmar  had  died,  his  death  would  have  been  on 
Baird's  conscience.  And  it  was  Blackmar's  money 
that  he  had  taken.  At  least,  Blackmar  claimed  some 
title  to  it. 

Suppose — suppose  Jimmy  was  wrong!  Suppose 
Blackmar  had  killed  himself — tried  to  kill  himself; 
he  mustn't  exaggerate,  mustn't  be  morbid — because 
of  that  money. 

Impossible !  Blackmar  was  said  to  be  worth  eight 
millions.  Said  to  be.  But  he,  Rodney  Baird,  knew 
how  easy  it  was  to  build  up  a  false  financial  reputa- 
tion in  New  York.  It  was  hard  in  Donchester — 
there  everyone  knew  the  other  fellow's  business — 
but  here,  in  Manhattan,  where  no  one  knew  or  cared 
so  long  as  you  wore  good  clothes  and  paid  your 
share —  Suppose  that  this  money  had  been  vital  to 
Blackmar? 

Then — then  there  wouldn't  be  any  question  about 
it.  He'd  be  responsible  for  the  firing  of  the  bullet 
into  Blackmar's  body —  He  mustn't  be  an  ass. 
Blackmar  was  weak,  and  he  could  not  be  blamed 
for  Blackmar's  weakness. 

He  rose  and  poured  himself  some  of  the  medicine 
that  the  doctor  had  left  with  him.  He  drank  it. 


UNEASY  STREET  305 

It  was  a  mild  narcotic,  and  it  stilled  his  fancies. 
Stilled  them,  but  left  them  with  him.  He  saw  Don- 
chester — no ;  he  couldn't  go  back  there.  But  he  saw 
himself  in  some  similar  town,  working  at  a  desk,  on 
a  high  stool.  He  saw  Eileen —  He  couldn't  do  it. 
Blackmar  was  weak.  The  world  belonged  to  the 
strong.  He  was  strong.  It  hadn't  been  weakness 
— that  first  step  of  his;  it  had  been  strength.  He 
kept  repeating  the  statement  to  himself  until  he  fell 
asleep. 


XXX 

BEFORE  going  to  sleep  that  night,  Baird  had 
finally  persuaded  himself  that  his  actions  were 
based  upon  strength  of  character.     He  knew  better 
in  the  morning  and,  knowing  better,  there  was  but 
one  thing  to  do. 

Blackmar  might  have  attempted  suicide  because 
of  Eileen.  The  world,  that  portion  of  it  which  knew 
Blackmar  and  Eileen,  would  assume  so.  Blackmar 
had  made  his  last  throw.  He  had  charged  Baird  di- 
rectly with  having  committed  theft.  Then — at- 
tempted self-destruction  and — silence. 

The  game  was  over,  unless  Baird  chose  to  renew 
it.  Blackmar,  Fannie  Holben,  Frankie  Landers — 
there  was  no  more  to  fear  from  these.  They  could 
prove  nothing.  The  money  that  he  had  found  in  the 
canvas  trunk  in  his  room  in  the  Tramby  was  his, 
if  he  chose  to  take  it. 

With  the  game  entirely  in  his  hand,  he  bathed, 
shaved  with  fussy  care,  arrayed  himself  carefully, 
ate  breakfast,  read  in  the  newspapers  about  the 
progress  of  peace,  and  took  a  taxi  to  the  Graduates. 

There  was  some  difficulty  about  seeing  Blackmar. 
The  club  employees  were  suspicious  of  strangers; 
but  he  finally  persuaded  them  to  send  his  name  up 
to  Blackmar.  Three  minutes  later  he  was  in  Black- 
mar's  room. 

306 


UNEASY  STREET  307 

There,  upon  the  bed,  pale,  wan,  was  a  Blackmar 
different  from  the  exquisite  whom  Baird  had  known. 
Even  the  faint  sneer  that  he  managed  to  summon  to 
his  bloodless  lips  held  but  a  feeble  imitation  of  that 
arrogance  which  had  annoyed  Baird  when  first  they 
had  met. 

"Come  to  gloat,  eh?"  Blackmar  asked  faintly. 

Baird  sat  down  on  a  chair  close  to  the  bed.  Now 
that  the  moment  of  decision  had  come,  it  was  not 
easy  to  make  it.  The  weakness  of  his  adversary  dis- 
armed him. 

"That's  nonsense,  Blackmar,"  he  said  shortly. 
Blackmar  eyed  him. 

"I  suppose  it  is.  What  is  the  idea,  then  ?"  he  said. 
Baird  looked  at  him  almost  blankly. 

"Why,  to  return  your  money  to  you,  of  course," 
he  answered.  Decision  was  made  at  last.  Black- 
mar's  head  slipped  back  on  the  pillow. 

"What's  the  idea,  Baird?"  he  demanded.  Baird 
shrugged.  He  essayed  a  smile. 

"There's  a  limit  to  everything,  I  suppose,  Black- 
mar.  If  my — if  what  I've  done  has  driven  you  to — •- 
this "  Blackmar's  eyes  narrowed. 

"I  understood  that  my — er — foolishness  was  gen- 
erally attributed  to  a  woman."  Baird  nodded. 

"I  suppose  so.  Jimmy  Ladd  thought  so,  but — • 
you  see,  I  knew  of  other  matters."  Blackmar's  lips 
curled  unpleasantly. 

"And  being  afraid  that  the  corner  was  getting 
tight,  you've  come  running  for  immunity,  eh?" 

Baird  frowned. 

"I  don't  think  I'd  thought  of  that." 


808  UNEASY  STREET 

"You  don't  think  so?"  Blackmar  sneered.  Baird 
shook  his  head. 

"Why — no.  You  see — it's  this  way:  I  saw  a 
chance  to — do  the  things  I  wanted  to  do.  I  took 
the  chance.  But  when  it  comes  to  some  one's  trying 
to  kill  himself — why,  that's  different."  His  manner 
became  suddenly  businesslike,  almost  brisk.  "You'll 
have  to  wait  for  some  of  it.  I've  used  it.  But — 
most  of  it — about  two  hundred  thousand  of  it, 
you'll  find  in  here." 

He  handed  Blackmar  the  storage-warehouse  re- 
ceipt for  the  suitcase  in  which  the  money  now  re- 
posed. Blackmar  fingered  it  carelessly,  not  looking 
at  it. 

"I  suppose  you  know  that  restitution,  even  com- 
plete restitution,  doesn't  nullify  criminality."  Baird 
shook  his  head  slowly. 

"I  don't  think  you  get  me,  Blackmar.  I'm  not 
trying  to  avoid  anything  except "  He  paused. 

"Except  what?"  demanded  Blackmar. 

"Well — er — this."  He  made  no  gesture,  but  his 
eyes  swept  the  bed.  Red  flushed  Blackmar's  pale 
cheeks. 

"You  needn't  worry,  Baird,"  he  said.  "I — a  man 
does — we're  all  yellow.  It  crops  out  in — different 
ways.  Mine  cropped  out  last  night.  It's  over." 

"I'm  glad,"  said  Baird.  He  rose.  "I  guess  that's 
all,  Blackmar.  The  money  that  I've — used " 

"Why  not  say  stolen?"  interrupted  Blackmar. 
Baird  nodded. 

"The  money  that  I've  stolen,  then — I  can't  pay  it 


UNEASY  STREET  309 

back  now.  You'll  get  it  sometime."  He  moved 
toward  the  door. 

"Sit  down !"  snapped  Blackmar.  Anger — the  first 
— flashed  in  Baird's  eyes. 

"You  needn't  give  orders,  you  know,  Blackmar. 
Let  the  police  do  that.  They  can  find  me." 

"Wait  a  bit.  Who  mentioned  police?"  Baird 
shrugged. 

"They  naturally  follow,  don't  they?" 

"Sit  down,"  said  Blackmar  again.  His  tone  was 
that  of  a  request  now.  Baird  sat  down. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that "  Blackmar 

stopped.  He  began  again.  "How'd  you  know  it  was 
money  that  made  me  try  what  I  tried  last  night?" 

"You're  hardly  the  sort  to  kill  yourself  for  love," 
said  Baird. 

Blackmar  colored  again.  His  laugh  was  self- 
contemptuous. 

"I'd  be  a  more  admirable  sort  if  I  were,"  he  said. 
"But — you're  right.  No  woman  plays  that  big  a 
part  for  me.  You're  different."  Baird  shrugged. 
Blackmar  studied  him.  "You  don't  seem  worried 
about  prosecution,"  he  said.  There  was  something 
of  exasperation  in  Baird's  tone  as  he  replied: 

"I'm  not  worried  at  all,  Blackmar.  Please  under- 
stand that.  I  wanted  something.  I  took  the  first 
way  that  presented  itself  to  get  that  something.  It 
turns  out  that  the  way  holds  unpleasantness  that 
can't  be  offset  by  the  pleasantness  of  the  goal. 
That's  all." 

"Noblesse  oblige,  eh?" 

"Hardly  that." 


310  UNEASY  STREET 

"No?  I  rather  think  that  it  is,  Baird,  I — well, 
let  it  go  that  I'm  much  obliged.  You  needn't  worry 
about  the  few  thousand  that  are  gone." 

"I'll  pay  it  back  sometime,"  said  Baird.  Black- 
mar  shrugged. 

"Suit  yourself.  I  suppose  you  understand  that 
there'll  be  no  prosecution."  Baird  stood  silent,  his 
face  expressionless. 

"That's  decent  of  you,  Blackmar."  The  man  in 
the  bed  laughed. 

"Decent,  eh?  Don't  thank  me,  Baird.  The — er 
— circumstances  are  such  that  publicity  wouldn't  do 
at  all.  I'll  be  honest  with  you.  That  money  was 
intended  for " 

"It  really  doesn't  matter,"  said  Baird. 

"Oh,  but  it  does!"  protested  Blackmar.  "One 
politician  was  to  get  two  hundred  thousand.  The 
balance  was  to  go  to  his  retainers.  A  transaction 
matter " 

"Why  tell  me?"  asked  Baird. 

"Why?"  Blackmar  propped  himself  up  on  the 
bed.  "Because  it  isn't  worth  while,  Baird.  I  knew 
it  a  minute — a  tenth  of  a  second,  after  I'd  pressed 
the  trigger.  Thank  God  it  wasn't  too  late !  But  I 
don't  want  you  leaving  here  and  spilling  your  brains 
all  over  the  pavement."  Baird  laughed. 

"I  hadn't  the  slightest  idea  of " 

"Maybe  not  this  minute.  But  by  and  by 

Forget  it.  Drive  it  out  of  your  mind.  Money?  I  was 
worth  millions  last  fall.  I  wanted  more  millions.  I 
took  a  long  chance,  and  the  armistice  broke  me.  I 
kept  it  as  quiet  as  I  could,  but  because  I  was  crazy 


UNEASY  STREET  311 

to  recoup,  I  let  myself  in  for  certain  work  that  a 
traction  group  wanted  done.  I  agreed  to  handle 
the  money.  I  did,  through  Landers.  He'd  been 
drinking.  It  didn't  reach  the  right  people.  I've 
been  accused  of  stealing  it.  It  looked  to  me  that 
I  couldn't  get  it  back.  I  tried  to  avoid  disgrace 
in  the  eyes  of  a  bunch  of  bribers.  Now  you  probably 
think  that  the  easiest  way  out  is  the  way  that  I 
tried.  But  it  isn't.  I  wouldn't  undergo  the  horror 
of  thinking  that  I'd  lost  my  last  chance  to  redeem 
myself."  He  wiped  his  forehead.  "We  win  redemp- 
tion here,  Baird.  I  learned  that  as  I  pressed  the 
trigger  last  night.  Debts  must  be  paid.  If  we 
don't  pay  them  here,  we're  going  to  be  compelled  to 
pay  them  elsewhere.  That's  all." 

Baird  looked  down  at  him.  It  was  decent  of 
Blackmar  to  tell  him  all  this,  but  unnecessary.  He 
hadn't  the  least  idea  of  killing  himself.  But  was 
he  sure?  He  hadn't  had  the  least  idea  of  taking 
money  that  didn't  belong  to  him.  But  he'd  done  it. 

It  was  very  decent  of  Blackmar.  So  he  told  him- 
self after  he'd  left  the  wounded  man's  bedside.  For, 
outside  in  the  street,  it  came  to  him  forcibly  that 
he  might,  conceivably,  have  tried  Blackmar's  way 
out  of  difficulty.  He  wouldn't  now,  because  the 
thing  meant  weakness;  and  weakness — he'd  been 
weak  enough. 

It  was  wonderful  upon  Fifth  Avenue.  Wealth, 
luxury  were  on  every  hand.  The  things  for  which 
he  had  surrendered  the  principles  that  centuries  of 
rigid  ancestors  had  given  him  were  here  to-day,  as 


812  UNEASY  STREET 

tempting,  as  desirable  as  they  had  been  little  over  a 
fortnight  ago. 

More  tempting,  more  desirable!  For  he  had 
tasted  of  them  now.  All  the  things  that  the  Avenue 
typified  he  had  had  in  his  reach.  And  he  had  sur- 
rendered them.  Oh,  well — he'd  wave  a  last  good-by 
kiss  to  the  Avenue,  as  Jimmy  Ladd  had  done  to 
Broadway,  and — Jimmy  Ladd!  Eileen! 

They  must  be  told.  He  had  stripped  away  his 
false  pretenses  to  Blackmar.  Now  he  must  strip 
them  away  before  Jimmy  and  Eileen.  He  turned 
down  a  side  street  and  walked,  unseeingly,  up  and 
down  the  crowded  sidewalks.  He  couldn't  just  dis- 
appear. Neither  could  he,  with  his  own  lips,  frame 
confession  for  the  ears  of  Jimmy  and  Eileen.  He 
could  write  it,  though. 

He  breathed  deeply.  Yes;  he'd  write  it  and  dis- 
appear. He  straightened  up  and  he  noted  his  sur- 
roundings. There,  opposite  him,  was  the  mansion  of 
James  McPherson  Ladd.  A  sudden  impulse  swayed 
him.  Jimmy  was  undoubtedly  at  the  office,  but  his 
father —  He  wouldn't  write  it;  he'd  tell  Mr.  Ladd. 
Ladd,  senior,  was,  after  all,  the  one  who'd  given  him 
employment.  He'd  tell  him,  take  his  medicine,  and 
then —  But  he  refused  to  anticipate. 

The  inside  of  his  hat,  where  it  toughed  his  fore- 
head, was,  he  noticed,  dripping  with  perspiration  as 
he  handed  it  to  the  servant  to  whom  he  gave  his 
name  and  who  told  him  that  he  would  see  if  Mr. 
Ladd  was  at  home. 


XXXI 

JIMMY'S  father  received  Baird  in  his  den.    A  silk 
jacket,    gorgeously    embroidered,    covered    his 
shoulders,  a  bit  shrunken,  it  seemed,  since  Baird  had 
last  seen  him. 

The  old  gentleman  waved  a  friendly  hand.  But 
its  pressure,  when  Baird  took  it  in  his  own,  was  none 
too  strong. 

"This  is  fine  of  you  looking  me  up,  Baird,"  he 
said.  "Jimmy  told  you  I'd  been  under  the  weather 
a  trifle?" 

"Why — er — I  was  passing  by "    Ladd  seemed 

not  to  notice  the  interruption. 

"Been  under  the  weather  yourself  a  bit,  haven't 
you?"  Baird  colored.  Unconsciously  he  moved 
his  wounded  shoulder.  "About,"  the  old  man  spoke 
measuredly,  "as  decent  a  thing  as  has  come  to 
my  notice  in  a  long,  long  time.  I  won't  embarrass 
you,  Mr.  Baird.  Just  let  me  say  'Thank  you!' 
Jimmy  made  no  mistake  about  you.  It  took  not 
merely  courage  to  handle  that  man  Landers,  but  a 
quick  and  ready  tact.  Jimmy  made  no  mistake," 
he  repeated  emphatically.  "How's  the  business  ap- 
peal to  you?"  he  demanded. 

It  was  hard,  much  harder  even  than  he  had  ex- 
pected. To  meet  with  commendation,  with  grati- 
tude, when  one  has  come  to  make  confession — 

313 


314  UNEASY  STREET 

"It — it's  been  the  greatest  chance  of  my  life,  Mr. 
Ladd,"  he  said.  "I — am  grateful." 

"Grateful  nothing!"  snorted  the  old  man.  "I'm 
grateful  to  you."  He  grinned.  "That  quixotic  son 
of  mine!  Oh,  well,  it's  his  very  recklessness  that 
makes  him  lovable.  And  you'll  have  a  tendency  to 
sober  him.  You're  more  conservative."  He  shifted 
abruptly  from  the  subject.  "Once  more,  Mr.  Ladd, 
let  me  thank  you.  .  .  .  Jimmy  has  told  me  all  about 

it,  and "  He  reached,  from  the  depths  of  the 

chair  in  which  he  seemed,  oddly,  so  small,  his  thin 
hand. 

Baird  looked  at  it.     He  could  not  shake  it  again. 

"Mr.  Ladd,"  he  said  steadily,  "Jimmy  telephoned 
me  New  Year's  eve.  He  invited  me  to  a  party.  I 

went.  I  met "  He  stopped  quickly.  Eileen  was 

in  no  way  to  blame  for  what  he  had  done.  Her  name 
would  not  be  mentioned.  "I  went  back  to  my  room 
at  the  Tramby — broke.  Next  morning  I  found,  un- 
der my  bed,  a  trunk.  It  was  filled  with  money. 
Something  over  two  hundred  thousand  dollars.  I 
took  a  hundred  of  it  to  pay  Jimmy  money  that  I'd 
borrowed.  Then,  for  other  purposes,  I  took  several 
thousand.  I  moved  from  the  Tramby.  I  got  rid  of 
the  trunk  in  which  the  money  had  been.  I  put  the 
bulk  of  the  money  in  a  suitcase  and  stored  it  in  a 
warehouse." 

He  had  been  looking  down.  Now,  as  he  glanced 
up,  he  was  amazed  to  find  that  upon  the  face  of  his 
auditor  was  no  condemnation. 

"Go  on;  go  on,"  commanded  Mr.  Ladd.  Baird 
drew  in  a  long  breath. 


UNEASY  STREET  315 

"That's  about  all.  Except  that  to-day  I  turned 
over  the  warehouse  receipt  to  the  man  who  held  the 
best  claim  to  the  money,  promised  to  repay  what  I 
had  spent — stolen,"  he  corrected  himself,  "whenever 
I  may  be  able, — and  came  to  tell  you." 

"Jimmy  know?"  asked  the  old  man.  Baird  shook 
his  head. 

"I  don't  want  to  tell  him,  Mr.  Ladd.  I  can't.  So 
I  thought  you'd  say  good-by  to  him  for  me,  tell 
what  I've  told  you " 

"To  whom  did  you  give  the  warehouse  receipt? 
Who's  the  man  that  owns  the  money?"  Baird 
shrugged. 

"It  doesn't  matter  much,  does  it,  Mr.  Ladd?" 

"Matter!  I  would  say  it  does.  I  want  to  know 
the  best  way  to  keep  his  mouth  shut." 

"His  mouth  shut?"  Baird's  astonishment  was 
palpable. 

"Of  course.  You  don't  suppose  we  want  any 
scandal  about  an  employee  of  Ladd  &  Company,  do 
you?"  The  old  gentleman  fairly  bristled  at  the 
thought. 

"Sam  Blackmar,"  said  Baird.  The  old  gentle- 
man pursed  his  lips. 

"I  know  a  few  ways  to  stop  his  talk.  Well,  who 
else?"  Baird  shrugged. 

"It's  out  of  the  question,  Mr.  Ladd.  Too  many 
people  know  of  the  money's  loss " 

"Blackmar  tried  to  kill  himself  last  night,  didn't 
he?  He  won't  have  talked  to  many  people.  He  can 
be  quieted  all  right.  Don't  let  that  worry  you.  But 
how  did  the  money  get  into  your  room?" 


316  UNEASY  STREET 

Baird  looked  at  him  searchingly.  Still  there  was 
nothing  of  condemnation  in  Ladd's  eyes.  On  the 
contrary,  there  was  a  sympathetic  encouragement. 
Almost  before  he  knew  it,  he  was  launched  on  the 
full  story.  Finished,  finally  he  stared  down  at  the 
floor.  There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  broken  by  a 
chuckle.  He  glanced  up. 

"Eileen  is  deadly,"  said  the  old  man.  "Her 
mother,  bless  her  memory,  was  the  same."  Baird 
stiffened. 

"Maybe  I've  said  more  than  I  meant,  sir.  Miss 
Elsing  is  in  no  way  responsible.  I'd  have  done  the 
same  thing  if  I  hadn't  met  her." 

"Have  you  told  her?"  demanded  Ladd  suddenly. 
Baird's  face  blazed.  He  shook  his  head. 

"I  can't  do  that,  sir,"  he  said. 

"No?"  The  old  man's  voice  was  suddenly  crisp. 
"Why  not?" 

"It'd  be  a  bit  too  much,"  he  protested. 

"Too  much  what?  Punishment?  You  stole, 
didn't  you?"  Crispness  had  become  harshness.  Yet 
there  was  nothing  that  Baird  could  say.  His  head 
dropped  lower.  "Some  men,"  went  on  the  old  man, 
"go  to  jail  for  theft.  Yet  you  won't  tell  the  girl 
you  intended  to  marry,  Jimmy  told  me  about  your 
engagement  only  last  night,  you  won't  tell  her, 
haven't  the  courage  to  tell  her  what  you've  done. 
Seems  to  me  that,  inasmuch  as  there  doesn't  seem 
any  prospect  of  jail,  you're  getting  off  rather 
lightly,  aren't  you?" 

"I  suppose  so,  Mr.  Ladd." 

"H'm."    Ladd  eyed  him  closely.     "Did  you  know 


UNEASY  STREET  317 

that  there  was  no  danger  of  jail  when  you  confessed 
to  Blackmar?" 

"I  hadn't  thought  much  about  it,"  said  Baird. 

"I  didn't  suppose  that  you  had,"  commented 
Ladd.  The  harshness  suddenly  left  his  tone.  "You 
came  to  me  because  you  thought  it  might  be  easier, 
eh?" 

Baird  assented,  rather  miserable  of  tone. 

"And  just  now  I  jumped  down  your  throat,  eh? 
But  a  moment  before,  I  didn't  seem  very  upset,  eh? 
Don't  understand  it?  Well,  there's  only  one  way  to 
come  clean,  my  boy.  Some  one  said  it  a  long  time 
ago.  Confession  is  good  for  the  soul.  Eileen  must 
know." 

"After  I've  gone — yes,"  admitted  Baird. 

"Gone  where?"     Baird  threw  his  hands  apart. 

"Anywhere — out  of  New  York." 

"Ladd  &  Company  has  no  branch  offices,"  said  the 
old  man.  "You  mean,  I  take  it,  that  you're  leav- 
ing us?" 

Baird  stared  at  him  in  bewilderment.  He  was 
a  most  incomprehensible  old  man.  One  minute,  he 
seemed  actually  amused  by  Baird's  recital ;  the  next 
vitriolically  angry;  the  next — but  Baird  couldn't 
define  .  ,  .  this  third  mood. 

"Why,  of  course,"  he  answered. 

"Mind  handing  me  that  cigar-box?" 

Baird  had  not  realized  how  nervous  he  was  until 
he  complied  with  the  request.  For  his  fingers  could 
hardly  grip  the  polished  lacquered  box. 

The  old  gentleman  selected  a  cigar,  clipped  its 
end  with  a  gold  cutter  attached  to  his  watch-chain, 


318  UNEASY  STREET 

lighted  it,  and  drew  in  its  fragrance  lustily.  He 
offered  the  box  to  Baird,  who  declined.  The  old 
man  chuckled. 

"Bad  for  me ;  fatal,  the  doctor  told  me  the  other 
day.  Asses,  doctors !  Always  blaming  one's  trou- 
bles on  tobacco  or  liquor.  Don't  smoke;  it'll  make 
you  nervous,  says  my  doctor.  Lord !  Not  smoking 
will  make  me  twice  as  nervous."  He  contemplated 
his  cigar  a  moment.  "So  you're  leaving  Ladd  & 
Company.  Let's  discuss  it.  Let's  analyze  it,  by 
way  of  getting  to  the  root  of  our  difficulties.  For, 
after  all,  as  the  head  of  Ladd  &  Company,  I'm  to 
be  considered,  eh?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Baird. 

"Well  then ;  you  come  in  here  and  spring  a  tale  of 
Arabian  Nights  quality,  and  I  don't  seem  shocked 
at  your  confession.  Then  I  do  become  angry  be- 
cause you  are  avoiding  your  duty  to  Eileen,  which 
is  to  confess  to  her.  Seems  as  if  I  make  acknowledg- 
ment of  wrong-doing  as  important  as  the  wrong- 
doing itself.  Well,  I  do.  It's  more  important. 

"You  stole  some  money.  You  spent  it.  You  in- 
tended— well,  never  mind  your  intentions.  You  did 
it  for  reasons  that  seemed  good  and  sufficient  to  you 
at  the  time.  It  doesn't  matter  what  the  reasons 
were.  They  satisfied  you. 

"Well,  the  man  whose  money  you  stole  tried  to 
kill  himself.  You  were  safe.  Nothing  could  be 
proved  against  you.  But  you  went  to  him  and  con- 
fessed. As  nearly  as  I  can  make  out,  the  penalties 
of  confession  were  not  considered  by  you. 

"Then  you  come  to  me.     You  want  Jimmy  and 


UNEASY  STREET  319 

Eileen  to  know,  but  you  don't  want  to  tell  them 
yourself.  Now,  Baird,  I'm  getting  old.  I've  lived 
long  enough  to  be  able  to  suspend  final  judgment 
on  anything  that  anyone  does.  It  is  wrong  for  a 
man  to  steal  bread  in  New  York.  But  if  he  were 
shipwrecked  upon  a  desert  island  and  came  upon  an 
empty  shack  in  which  there  was  bread,  he  would  not 
be  a  thief  if  he  took  it  and  ate  it. 

"I'm  not  defending  what  you've  done.  I'm  de- 
fending myself,  though,  for  not  condemning  you. 
Balance — that's  the  law  of  life.  If  one  steals,  one 
must  expiate.  Expiation  is  in  different  ways.  For 

some  it  means  jail ;  for  others You  took  money 

that  was  not  yours  because  you  wanted  to  shine  in 
the  eyes  of  a  girl,  because  you  wanted  to  land  a  po- 
sition with  my  firm. 

"Well,  in  confessing,  when  there  was  no  compul- 
sion to  confess,  you  struck  the  balance  essential  in 
this  world.  You  returned  the  money — most  of  it; 
you  will  return  the  rest.  You  gave  up  your  posi- 
tion; you  gave  up  the  girl  you  had  won.  In  other 
words,  you  restored  the  balance  that  had  existed  be- 
fore you  stole.  What  more  can  be  asked  of  you?" 

"You  ask  more,"  said  Baird.  "You  want  me  to 
tell  Eileen."  The  old  gentleman  shrugged. 

"Because  I  want  her  to  have  her  chance." 

"Her  chance?"    Baird's  mouth  remained  open. 

"Exactly.  You've  asked  her  to  marry  you.  She's 
accepted  your  offer.  Yet  you  propose  running 
away  from  her " 

"Good  God,"  cried  Baird,  "I'm  a  thief!    Do  you 


320  UNEASY  STREET 

suppose  that  she'd  look  at  me  again?  Why,  I'm 
saving  her  sorrow,  humiliation!" 

"Aren't  you  saving  it  for  yourself,  rather?"  coun- 
tered Ladd. 

Baird's  face  whitened.  He  rose  and  looked  down 
upon  the  old  man. 

"I  can't  tell  you,  Mr.  Ladd,  how — how — you're 
the  whitest  man  I've  ever  known.  You're — you're 
Jimmy's  dad,  all  right.  But — good-by,  Mr.  Ladd." 

Blindly  he  rushed  down  the  stairs,  took  his  hat 
from  the  amazed  servant  who  had  watched  his  hasty 
descent,  and  fairly  fled  into  the  street.  Old  man 
Ladd  was  the  whitest,  the  most  decent  man  that  ever 
breathed.  But  he,  Baird,  must  not  be  misled  by  the 
kindness  of  one  individual.  Jimmy  would  despise 
him,  and  Eileen  would  hate  him.  It  was  right  that 
they  should. 

Until  now,  he  had  not  felt  remorse.  He  had  done 
what  he  felt  that  common  decency  compelled  him 
to  do.  But  that  very  recognition  of  the  demands 
of  common  decency  made  him  realize  that  he  had 
outraged  common  decency  before  he  had  yielded  to 
its  demands.  He  was  in  no  mood  to  palliate  his 
offense.  He  no  longer,  in  his  thoughts,  said  "took." 
He  said  "stole." 

He  had  reached  his  rooms  at  Derriby's  and  had 
begun  packing  just  about  the  time  that  Ladd,  senior, 
located  his  son  on  the  telephone.  Jimmy  was  with 
Eileen  at  her  apartment.  They  promised  to  come 
right  down  to  the  Ladd  mansion. 


xxxn 

JIMMY  raced  up-stairs  ahead  of  Eileen.  She  en- 
tered to  find  the  young  man  seated  on  the  arm 
of  the  chair  in  which  the  elder  sat,  his  hand  gripping 
the  shrunken  shoulder.  She  hid  the  expression  of 
relief  that  leaped  to  her  face  by  turning  away. 

On  receipt  of  his  father's  telephone-call,  Jimmy 
had  become  alarmed.  Old  man  Ladd  was  the  sort 
who  rarely  make  requests  of  their  friends  or  family, 
are  never  urgent,  much  less  imperative.  But  he  ... 
imperative,  and  Jimmy  could  only  think  of  his 
father's  health  as  a  reason  for  the  summoning  of 
Eileen,  as  well  as  himself,  immediately  to  the  Ladd 
home. 

Eileen's  face  was  inquiringly  friendly  as  she  re- 
turned the  old  gentleman's  greeting. 

"Just  like  you,  Mr.  Ladd,"  she  said,  impudently. 
"Always  trying  to  keep  me  from  capturing  Jimmy. 
I  had  him  cornered  in  my  apartment,  a  proposal  on 

the  tip  of  his  tongue "  The  old  gentleman 

chuckled. 

"Eileen,  Eileen!  When  your  granddaughter  in- 
troduces you  to  her  fiance,  I  wonder  will  you  flirt 
with  him."  He  turned  his  head  and  glanced  up  at 
the  smiling  face  of  his  son.  "Tell  me,"  he  said,  with 
mock  severity,  "what  were  you  doing  at  Eileen's 

321 


322  UNEASY  STREET 

apartment?  Trying  to  break  her  engagement?" 
Jimmy  laughed.  Then  he  sobered. 

"Talking  over  Sam  Blackmar.  Eileen  heard 
about  it  this  morning  and  she  'phoned  me." 

"Why  not  'phone  Baird?  Why  try  to  intrigue 
my  only  son  and  heir,  Eileen  Elsing?"  demanded 
Ladd. 

"Rod  wasn't  in.  And,  anyway "  Eileen 

paused,  flushing.  The  old  man  nodded. 

"Of  course,  Baird  was  here  this  morning,"  he  said 
abruptly.  "He  told  me  an  amazing  story." 

Eileen  glanced  at  Jimmy.  The  young  man's  face 
was  suddenly  harsh. 

"An  amazing  story?"  she  echoed. 

"Yes ;  that's  why  I  sent  for  you  two.  Baird  con- 
fessed to  me  that  he  was  a  thief." 

He  kept  his  eyes  fastened  upon  Eileen.  Though 
her  eyes  did  not  move,  he  knew  that  she  didn't  see 
him,  could  guess  the  film  that  crept  over  her  eyes. 
Her  hand  moved  mechanically  to  her  throat  and 
pressed  against  it.  It  was  as  though  she  were  hav- 
ing difficulty  in  swallowing  and  were  assisting  the 
throat-muscles.  Yet  she  was  first  to  break  the 
silence. 

"A  thief,  Mr.  Ladd?  You  mean- — Sam  Black- 
mar?"  Ladd,  senior's,  eyebrows  lifted. 

"You  knew  something  about  it,  Eileen?" 

"Knew  something? — I'd  heard  Sam  say  that.  I 
don't  believe  it,"  she  cried.  The  film  seemed  to  leave 
her  eyes ;  certainly  they  blazed  now.  The  vagueness 
left  her  voice.  "It's  a  lie."  Mr.  Ladd  shrugged. 

"Don't  you  want  to  hear  me  through?" 


UNEASY  STREET  323 

Her  figure  stiffened.  She  looked  like  a  figure  of 
Wrath.  Her  chin,  in  its  forward  jutting,  the  sud- 
denly tight  line  of  the  skin  over  the  jaw-bone,  the 
slight  flare  of  her  nostrils — this  was  an  Eileen  El- 
sing  different  from  the  Eileen  that  Jimmy  had 
known.  Her  eyes  gleamed  admiringly.  Then  he 
turned  upon  his  father. 

"It's  a  bit  thick,  dad.  Perhaps  Rod  has  done 
something  that  you  don't  approve,  but " 

"He  accused  himself  of  stealing,"  said  Ladd, 
senior,  tersely.  "Want  to  hear  about  it,  Eileen?" 

"I'd  rather  hear  it  from  him,"  she  answered. 
There  was  scorn  in  her  tone,  but  it  was  for  Mr. 
Ladd,  not  for  the  absent  Baird.  The  old  man  smiled 
queerly. 

"Not  much  chance  of  that,  my  dear,  I'm  sorry 
to  say.  It  was  because  he  was  afraid  to  confess 
to  you  that  he  came  to  me." 

This  was  the  first  convincing  statement, — to 
Eileen's  way  of  thinking, — that  Ladd  had  made. 
Red  had  crept  into  her  pale  cheeks,  but  it  crept 
out  now.  The  combativeness  left  her  eyes,  her  jaws, 
her  mouth. 

"What  did  he  steal?"  she  demanded.  She  tried 
to  make  her  voice  retain  the  scorn  that  had  been 
in  it  a  moment  ago.  But  that  scorn  had  been  nat- 
ural then.  Now  it  was  forced,  failed  of  effect,  ren- 
dered her  tone  harsh  instead  of  cynical,  doubting, 
disbelieving. 

"Something  over  two  hundred  thousand  dollars," 
said  the  old  man. 

"From  whom?"  she  asked. 


324  UNEASY  STREET 

"Sam  Blackmar." 

"Where?" 

"The  Tramby  Hotel  on  New  Year's  eve."  She 
essayed  a  sniff.  It  sounded  more  like  a  sob. 

"You've  been  listening  to  Sam,"  she  scoffed.  The 
old  man  shrugged. 

"Blackmar's  in  bed  to-day,  isn't  he?  I  haven't 
seen  him.  My  dear,  why  should  I  lie  to  you?" 

She  looked  at  him.  He  could  see  the  tears  slip- 
ping down  her  cheeks,  great  drops. 

"B-bec-cause  everybody — be-c-cause  h "  It 

was  true.  There  was  no  question  about  it.  Rodney 
had  been  here  this  morning,  had  confessed  to  the  old 
man,  and — her  tears  vanished  as  quickly  as  they 
had  come,  only  telltale  streaks  on  her  cheeks  and 
a  redness  of  the  eyelids  indicating  their  passage. 
Into  her  eyes  came  that  glint  of  hardness  that 
Jimmy  Ladd  had  often  seen  in  the  past.  "Tell  me," 
she  said. 

Slowly,  looking  anywhere  but  at  her,  the  old  gen- 
tleman repeated  Baird's  confession  of  an  hour  or  so 
ago.  Silently  she  heard  him  through,  seeming  impa- 
tient of  Jimmy's  frequent  exclamatory  and  amazed 
interruptions.  Her  mouth,  which  had  been  pugna- 
cious, then  pitiful,  became  almost  sneering. 

"It's  an  Elsing  trick;  we  all  do  it,"  she  said,  as 
the  old  man  finished. 

Jimmy  had  left  the  arm  of  his  father's  chair. 
Now  he  stopped  his  excited  walking-up-and-down 
the  floor  to  gaze  at  her. 

"An  Elsing  trick?"  he  asked. 

"Making  a  mess  of  things,"  she  explained.    "Fall- 


UNEASY  STREET  825 

ing  in  love  with  the  wrong  sort — oh,  I  was  in  love 
with  him  all  right."  Her  voice  was  self-contemptu- 
ous now. 

"Was?"  questioned  Mr.  Ladd  gently.  She  stared 
at  him,  mouth  agape. 

"You  don't  suppose  that  I  am,  do  you?" 

"Why  not?"  asked  Mr.  Ladd.  Jimmy  shook  his 
head  impatiently. 

"That's  nonsense,  dad." 

"Why  nonsense,  oh,  son  of  mine  grown  old  in 
wisdom?" 

"Why,  hang  it  all,  dad,  Baird's  a  crook !  Eileen 
can  feel  sorry  for  him — I  do,  for  that  matter.  But, 
beyond  that — certainly  not." 

"So?"  The  father's  tone  was  mild.  "Seems  to 
me  I  have  a  sort  of  recollection  of  a  young  black- 
guard who  used  to  fall  up-stairs  here  two  or  three 
times  a  week.  He  was  by  way  of  being  a  promising 
young  drunkard.  I'd  hardly  call  him  a  drunkard 
to-day.  If  I'd  ceased  to  love  him  while  he  was 
drinking,  I'm  quite  sure  that  his  present  condition 
of  sobriety  would  have  revived  my  affection  for 
him."  Jimmy  flushed. 

"It's  a  bit  different,  dad.  A  thief  is — well,  he's  a 
thief:' 

"Is  a  child  with  scarlet  fever  a  child  with  scarlet 
fever  after  the  child  is  pronounced  well?"  countered 
his  father. 

"Who  pronounces  a  crook  healed  of  his  crooked- 
ness?" demanded  Jimmy. 

"Why,  I'd  say  that  when  he  renounces  the  profit 
that  he  has  made  by  crookedness,  when  he's  re- 


326  UNEASY  STREET 

hounced  it  when  he  was  not  compelled  to I'd 

say  that  he  was  healed  then.  Wouldn't  you?" 

"Well,  even  if  I  agreed  with  you,  you'd  hardly 
expect  Eileen  to  do  so,  would  you?" 

"Never  mind  Eileen  just  now.  I'm  talking  to  you. 
Baird  did  a  rather  decent  thing  for  you  the  other 
Hay,  didn't  he?" 

"He  did,"  admitted  Jimmy. 

"Hardly  the  action  of  a  crook,  was  it?"  asked 
the  old  man. 

"W-ell."  Jimmy  shrugged.  "You  said  yourself, 
a  while  ago,  that  Baird  was  a  thief." 

"Did  I?  Didn't  I  say,  rather,  that  Baird  had 
said  that  he  was  a  thief?" 

"Well,  what's  the  difference?"  asked  his  son. 

"Tremendous.  If  you  can't  see  it — Baird  has 
passed  his  own  judgment  upon  himself.  But  I — I 
hesitate  to  pass  judgment  upon  anyone." 

"You  can  accept  his  judgment,  though,"  said 
Jimmy. 

"His  verbal  judgment,  or  the  judgment  of  his 
actions  ?" 

"Aren't  they  the  same  thing?" 

"Not  quite.  He  calls  himself  a  thief.  Then  he 
does  the  very  things  that  a  thief  does  not  do.  Im- 
pelled by  no  fear,  he  makes  restitution  and  confes- 
sion." 

"Are  you  sure  that  he  wasn't  afraid?"  demanded 
Jimmy. 

For  the  first  time  in  many  minutes,  Eileen  spoke. 

"He  wasn't  afraid,"  she  said  slowly.  "I  heard 
him  talk  with  Sam.  He — he  wasn't  afraid." 


UNEASY  STREET  327 

"Of  course  not!"  exclaimed  the  elder  Ladd.  "It 
simply  happened  that  the  thing  he  had  done  led 
him  into  a  situation  that  was  unendurable.  Black- 
mar  had  tried  to  kill  himself.  Baird  guessed  why. 
And  he  confessed  to  Blackmar  and  repaid  him — not 
all,  but  practically  all."  Reluctantly  Jimmy  spoke. 

"Game  of  him,  I'll  admit." 

"Oh  something  more  than  that,"  insisted  his 
father.  "Honest  of  him.  Blackmar  could  prove 
nothing." 

"Honest  ?  Depends,  I'd  say,  on  what  honesty  is," 
objected  Jimmy. 

"Who  knows  exactly?  Pilate  asked,  'What  is 
truth?'  I'd  say  it  was  honesty.  But,  then,  I'm 
older  than  you  are,  Jimmy." 

"What  difference  does  that  make?"  asked  Jimmy 
resentfully. 

"You'll  know  soon  enough,"  replied  his  father. 

"I'd  like  to  know  now,"  said  Jimmy. 

"It's  nothing  much.  Only — things  seem  so  cer- 
tain when  one  is  young,  Jimmy.  Two  and  two  make 
four.  We  can  prove  it  so  easily  that  we  jeer  at 
whoever  denies  it.  It  is  only  when  we  are  old  that 
we  ask,  'But  how  do  we  know  that  two  is  two  ?'  And 
when  we've  asked  that  question,  it  occurs  to  us  that 
perhaps  the  answer  to  the  sum  of  two  and  two  may 
be  wrong  because  two  isn't  two." 

"It  sounds  jumbled  to  me,  dad,"  said  Jimmy.  His 
father  shrugged. 

"Life  becomes  jumbled  the  more  we  live,  Jimmy. 
It's  all  so  clear  to  youth.  There  are  the  rules. 
Obey  them.  Simple,  eh?  Yet,  later,  one  asks  not 


328  UNEASY  STREET 

merely  what  and  why  are  the  rules  and  whence  their 
origin  but — what  is  obedience?  So  we  suspend 
judgment,  Jimmy." 

" Judgment — in  other  words,  our  opinions  can  be 
matters  of  such  reasoning  as  yours,  dad?"  His 
father  laughed. 

"Why  not?" 

"Well,  there's  a  certain  natural  abhorrence 
toward  certain  things,  dad.  Such  as,  for  instance, 
theft." 

"And  there's  a  certain  admiration  that  arises  in 
us  for  another's  good  qualities.  Is  that  overcome 
by  reasoning?" 

"God  knows,"  said  Jimmy.  "You're  way  beyond 
my  depth,  dad."  His  father  laughed  again. 

"Well,  it  made  good  talk,  anyway.  And  we  grow 
garrulous  as  we  grow  older.  I  suppose  you're  both 
well  out  of  the  acquaintance.  A  nasty  little  rotter, 
the  man  is." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  where  you  get  that  idea,  dad," 
protested  Jimmy.  "There  are  lots  worse  than  Rod. 
Why,  hang  it,  just  now  you  were  trying  to  convince 
me  that  Rod  was  O.K." 

"Oh,  I  was  rambling  along  for  the  sake  of  hear- 
ing myself  talk.  A  nasty  little  confidence  man.  I 
suspected  him  from  the  start.  He  was  too  easy,  too 
debonair,  too  suave " 

"Suave?"  The  color  had  come  to  Eileen's  cheeks. 
"Suave?  I  don't  see  how  you  got  that  opinion  of 
Rodney.  Suavity  is  the  last  quality  I'd  attribute 
to  him.  He — he  was  sort  of  ingenuous,  I  think." 


UNEASY  STREET  329 

"A  pose.  Part  of  his  crookedness,"  said  old  man 
Ladd. 

"Why,  I  think  you're  horrid!"  cried  Eileen. 

Over  the  face  of  the  old  man  spread  a  smile.  Be- 
fore it,  Eileen's  flush  of  anger  became  the  blush  of 
embarrassment. 

"Such  a  simple  trick,  too,"  he  chuckled.  "I'd 
hardly  have  expected  two  such  stern  arbiters  of  right 
and  wrong  to  be  deceived  by  it.  But  I  suppose  that 
it's  easily  explainable.  You  want  to  reserve  the 
privilege  of  condemnation  of  Baird  to  yourselves, 
eh?  Outsiders  are  barred."  His  voice  grew  serious. 

"Listen,  children:  To  act  hastily  is  to  act 
wrongly.  And  pride  continues  us  in  our  hasty 
course.  Eileen,  look  at  me !  You  love  Baird.  You 
were  ready,  a  few  minutes  ago,  to  put  him  out  of 
your  life  forever.  But  now — are  you  so  ready?" 

Her  eyes  wavered;  they  sought  those  of  Jimmy. 
Jimmy  was  flushed,  perspiring  of  forehead.  Some- 
how, over  the  picture  of  Eileen  that  his  eyes  held, 
another  picture  superimposed  itself.  It  was  a  pic- 
ture of  Baird  meeting  Landers*  rush.  Other  pic- 
tures swept  across  a  mental  canvas.  Baird  in 
France,  Baird  in  training-camp —  A  warm  rush  of 
tenderness  misted  his  eyes.  The  pictures  vanished. 
Through  a  blur,  he  saw  Eileen.  But  she  was  no 
longer  looking  at  him  questioningly.  She  was  star- 
ing at  his  father,  her  body  tense  again,  but  this 
time  with  eagerness,  not  aggression.  And  Ladd, 
senior,  was  saying: 

"One  act  may  sometimes  be  the  act  by  which  we 
can  judge  a  man,  Eileen.  But  this  act  of  Baird's 


330  UNEASY  STREET 

— can  we  judge  it  singly,  by  itself?  Or  must  we 
remember  that,  whether  he  was  a  thief,  or  not  un- 
der impulse  he  was  redeemed  himself  ?  And  must  not 
you,  Eileen,  remember  that,  after  all,  your  own 
beaux  yeux  were  in  part  responsible?  Not  that  the 
blame  can  be  shifted,  but — it  was  for  you,  Eileen." 
He  suddenly  drew  out  his  watch.  "He  left  here  al- 
most two  hours  ago.  He  went,  I  imagine,  to  his 
rooms.  To  pack,  doubtless.  I'd  say,  if  you  ever 
want  to  see  him  again " 

Eileen  turned  to  Jimmy.  There  was  no  question 
in  her  eyes,  but,  had  there  been,  it  would  have  been 
answered.  For  Jimmy  spoke. 

".We'd  better  hustle,  Eileen." 


xxxin 

BAIRD,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  his  packing  done, 
looked  down  upon  the  thronged  street.  Home 
of  youth  and  ambition,  the  twin  ideals  of  America; 
home  of  success,  home  of  opportunity — New  York 
was  more  than  that.  It  was  the  frame  that  held 
Eileen  Elsing.  Donchester  would  have  seemed  as 
attractive  to  him  as  New  York  had  Eileen  Elsing 
been  there.  vThe  remotest  prairie  village,  with 
Eileen — 

He  wheeled.  He  reached  for  his  jacket.  In  ten 
minutes  he  would  be  gone  from  Derriby's.  In  art 
hour,  at  the  utmost,  gone  from  New  York,  gone  f rom 
Ladd  &  Company,  from  Jimmy,  from  Eileen.  He 
had  one  arm  through  one  sleeve,  and  was  struggling 
with  the  other  when  a  knock  sounded  upon  the  door. 

Grannan,  of  course,  he  supposed.  His  mouth 
tightened  grimly.  Wounded  shoulder  and  all,  it 
would  be  pleasant  to  "knock  Grannan  for  a  goal," 
as  the  slang  of  the  moment  had  it.  Grannan,  the 
obsequious  valet,  had  been  paid  by  Blackmar  to  act 
as  spy.  Then  he  shrugged.  After  all,  each  man 
according  to  his  lights.  Baird  to  steal  a  fortune, 
Grannan  to  act  as  spy! 

"Come  in,"  he  grunted. 

Not  noticing,  because  he  did  not  care,  he  was  on 
331 


332  UNEASY  STREET 

the  threshold  of  his  bedroom  before  he  knew  that  it 
was  not  Grannan  who  had  entered  but  Eileen.  He 
knew  it  because  of  no  rustle  of  her  garments,  because 
of  no  fragrance  that  emanated  from  her.  He  simply 
knew  it. 

Slowly,  meticulously  straightening  his  jacket,  he 
turned.  Jimmy  was  behind  her,  but  he  noticed 
Jimmy  only  as  one  would  notice  the  background  of 
a  portrait. 

She  was  idressed  in  the  blue  tailor-made  that  she 
had  worn  at  tea  on  New  Year's  day.  The  jaunty 
little  hat  crowned  her  auburn  hair.  As  before,  the 
very  boyishness  of  her  attire  but  accentuated  her 
lovely  femininity.  Youth!  It  was  the  great  out- 
standing quality  of  her.  She  would  have  it  until 
she  died. 

For  a  moment,  they  stood  facing  each  other.  He 
knew  that  she  knew  of  his  confession  to  Blackmar, 
that  he  stood  upon  the  brink  of  the  most  highly  emo- 
tional moment  of  his  life.  She  knew  it,  too.  Her 
eyes  that  held  in  their  gray  clarity  a  serene  confi- 
dence suddenly  filmed.  Even  as  his  dropped,  hers 
turned  slightly.  Had  he  spoken  at  the  moment  of 
her  entrance,  had  she  spoken,  then  they  would  have 
been  swept  unresistingly  upon  the  current  of  emo- 
tionalism. But  the  first  tense  moment  passed 
silently.  By  that  time,  Eileen  had  remembered  that 
she  was  a  woman  of  the  world,  and  Baird  had  re- 
membered that  grown  men  worthy  of  their  manhood 
do  not  throw  themselves  upon  the  ground  and  kiss 
the  hem  of  a  woman's  skirt,  no  matter  how  deeply 
they  may  love  and  have  erred. 


UNEASY  STREET  333 

Their  joint  pride  had  suddenly,  without  a  word 
or  movement  on  the  part  of  either,  erected  itself  be- 
tween them.  Emotionalism  could  have  breached  it 
upon  her  entrance,  but  now  it  was  too  late.  Each 
felt  it,  quite  without  understanding.  Helplessly, 
their  eyes  averted,  each  trembling  with  love  one  sec- 
ond and  the  next  rigid  with  pride,  they  stood  there. 
It  was  Jimmy  Ladd  who  broke  the  silence  and  saved 
a  situation. 

"Packing,  Rod?" 

The  commonplace  question  brought  a  blaze  of 
color  into  Baird's  cheeks. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  shortly.  There  was  some- 
thing of  defiance  in  his  tone. 

"Going  to  leave  without  saying  even  fare-thee- 
well,  eh?"  asked  Jimmy.  "One  grand  way  of  treat- 
ing a  friend,  I'll  say!" 

"Well,  what  would  you  have  me  do?"  countered 
Baird.  "You've  seen  your  father?" 

"We  just  left  him,"  replied  Jimmy.  "He  told  us 
we'd  better  hurry;  so — we  hustled,  didn't  we, 
Eileen?"  Her  eyes  had  gained  Baird's  again. 
Without  removing  them,  she  nodded. 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

"And  came  to  see  me?"  asked  Baird.  The  ques- 
tion was  to  her,  not  to  Jimmy,  she  knew. 

"I'm  here,  eh?"  she  retorted. 

!A.  moment  ago,  Baird  had  thought  that  he  read 
lier  eyes,  had  thought  them  clear,  untroubled.  Now 
they  were  unfathomable.  Pain,  delight,  woe,  or 
joy — he  could  not  tell  what  was  in  them. 

The  rigidity  left  his  figure.     He  stirred  uneasily. 


334  UNEASY  STREET 

His  eyes  left  Eileen's  and  wandered  to  Jimmy,  then 
back  again  to  the  girl. 

"Of  course — I'd  have  written,"  he  stammered. 

''Written  what?"  demanded  Jimmy. 

"Why — er — what  I'd  done,"  answered  Baird. 

"You  knew  that  dad  would  have  told  us.  Why 
write  it?" 

"Well— er " 

"The  plain  truth  is  that  you  couldn't  trust  Eileen 
or  me,  isn't  it?"  demanded  Ladd. 

"Trust  you?"  Baird  was  bewildered. 

"You  heard  me.  I'm  the  kind  of  a  yellow  dog  that 
goes  back  on  a  friend  because  he's  in  a  jam,  and 
Eileen — God  knows  what  you  thought  of  her."  He 
snorted  indignantly.  The  sight  of  Baird,  caught  in 
the  act  of  packing,  on  the  eve  of  a  departure  that, 
Jimmy  knew,  must  be  permanent,  aroused  in  him 
feelings  that  could  express  themselves  only  in  indig- 
nation. He  forgot  that,  only  a  few  minutes  ago,  he 
had  thought  himself  willing  to  let  Baird  go  out  of 
his  life.  He  remembered  his  father's  arguments  well 
enough,  but  would  have  claimed  their  authorship. 

"Thought  of  her?"  said  Baird.  Something  of  that 
(desperation  that  was  within  him  came  to  the  sur- 
face, was  evidenced  by  his  voice,  by  his  expression. 
"Why,  good  God,  Jimmy — why,  Eileen " 

An  amateur  psychologist  Jimmy  Ladd  certainly 
was.  It  is  to  be  doubted  if  he  could  have  defined 
the  word  authoritatively.  Yet  he  had  grasped  the 
significance  of  the  tense  attitudes  of  Eileen  and 
Baird  a  moment  ago.  He  knew  that  the  taut  wire 
sometimes  snaps.  The  spiritual  wire  of  these  twain 


UNEASY  STREET  335 

had  not  snapped,  but — it  was  up  to  Jimmy  to  make 
them  break,  if  possible. 

"A  lot  you  thought  of  her!"  he  sneered.  "Leave 
me  out  of  it.  I  don't  count.  But,  Eileen — I  never 
thought  you  were  yellow,  Rod." 

Baird  stared  at  him. 

"What  are  friends  for,"  went  on  Jimmy,  "but  to 
help  each  other  stand  the  gaff?  And  if  friends  are 
supposed  to  do  that,  what  are  lovers  supposed  to  do  ? 
You  make  me  feel  pretty  sick,  Rod." 

Slowly  Baird  turned  to  Eileen.  He  wet  his  lips 
with  a  nervous  tongue. 

"Do — how  do  you  feel  about  the  matter,  Eileen?" 

"'I'm  here,  eh?"  she  said  again. 

"Here?  Yes.  But — did  Mr.  Ladd  tell  you  wliat 
I  told  him?  That  I'm  a  faker,  a  cheap  imposter, 
a. — a  four-flusher,  a  thief?  That  I  pretended " 

"He  told  us  that  you  said  those  things  about 
yourself,"  she  interrupted. 

"Well?    You  believe  it,  don't  you?" 

"Talk  sense!"  snapped  Jimmy.  "Would  we  be 
here  if  we  believed  that  stuff?  Say,  Rod,  have  you 
beeen  kidding  the  girl?" 

"Kidding?"  Baird  stared  again  at  Jimmy. 
"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Don't  you  understand  slang?  I  said  Tddding.' 
I  meant  making  love  to  her  for  the  fun  of  it.  Flirt- 
ing, if  that  makes  it  clearer." 

"Don't  be  an  ass,"  said  Baird. 

"And  I  say  the  same  thing  to  you,  Roddy  me 
buck.  Good  Lord  above  us,  look  down  upon  the 
man!  Early-martyr  stuff,  monks  wearing  wire 


336  UNEASY  STREET 

shirts Wake  up,  Rod ;  you  haven't  any  quarrel 

with  us.  We're  trying  to  make  friends  with  you. 
Don't  strike  us." 

His  humor  fell  miserably  flat  upon  the  ears  of 
Baird. 

"Please  don't  be  silly,  Jimmy,"  he  said. 

"Silly?  Because  we've  come  down  here  to — well, 
what  did  we  come  down  here  for,  Eileen?  I  know 
that  I  came  to  tell  Rod  that  if  I  heard  any  more 
of  this  nonsense  about  his  leaving  Ladd  &  Company, 
I'd  bust  him  one  on  the  ear.  What  did  you  come 
down  for,  Eileen?" 

She  hesitated  a  moment.  The  blush  that  was  in 
her  cheeks  spread  to  her  forehead,  her  throat. 

"To  tell  him,"  she  said,  with  the  least  catch  in 
her  voice,  "that  if  I  heard  any  more  of  this  nonsense 
about  his  leaving  me,  I'd  bust  him  one  on  the  ear." 

"Right !"  said  Jimmy.  "Eileen,  go  bust  him.  As 
for  me,  I've  scruples.  I  can't  stand  by  and  watch 
a  healthy  young  female  mistreat  a  wounded  male. 
I — just  can't  do  it,  so — be  careful  of  his  shoulder, 
Eileen." 

He  was  through  the  door  and  it  had  closed  be- 
hind him  before  they  comprehended  his  intention. 
Eileen  glanced  at  the  closed  door.  Suddenly  she 
trembled.  She  took  a  step  after  Jimmy.  And  then 
Baird  was  beside  her. 

"Eileen !"  She  turned.  He  was  close  to  her.  She 
put  a  hand  against  a  chair  to  steady  herself. 
<{Eileen !"  he  said  again. 

tThen  she  met  his  eyes,  so  close  to  hers  that  their 


UNEASY  STREET  337 

faces  almost  touched.  She  moved  a  step  back,  still 
clinging  to  the  chair. 

"Well,  Rod?" 

"Did  Jimmy — do  you — mean  that "  He 

paused,  helplessly. 

"You  know  that  I  love  you,"  she  said. 

"I  knew  that  you  did." 

"Would  I  change  overnight,  do  you  think?"  He 
shrugged. 

"But  I'd  changed.  You  wouldn't,  but — I'm  not 
the  man  you  thought  I  was." 

"How  do  you  know?"  she  demanded. 

"Surely  yesterday  you  didn't  think  me  a  thief, 
Eileen?" 

"Certainly  not;  but — to  say  that  you're  not  the 
man  I  thought  you  were — what  does  that  signify? 
Do  any  of  us  remain  stationary  in  the  eyes  of  those 
who  know  us?  We  must  move." 

"But  to  move  backward!"     She  shook  her  head. 

"To  move  backward  and  stay  there!  You  didn't 
do  that,  Rod."  He  breathed  heavily. 

"That's — white  of  you,  Eileen.  But — I  have  no 
money,  Eileen." 

"Perhaps  I've  moved,  Rod." 

His  eyes  were  puzzled. 

"I  mean,"  she  explained,  "th,$t  perhaps  money 
doesn't  mean  so  much." 

"You've  inherited  a  fortune,''  lie  reminded  her. 
She  colored  angrily. 

"Meaning,  I  suppose,  that  if  I  ^adn't  I'd  not  be 
here,  that  I'd  be  making  eyes  at  -rlmmy  Ladd  per- 


338  UNEASY  STREET 

haps.  That  I'm  so  money-hungry  that  money  alone 
counts " 

"I  didn't  mean  that,  Eileen,"  he  protested. 

"You  did!  You're  hateful!  You're  horrid! 
You're — I  come  down  here  practically  begging  you 

to  marry  me  and "  She  stopped,  her  bosom 

heaving,  her  eyes  flashing.  "Why,  if  I  hadn't  a 
penny,  and  you  hadn't  a  penny,  I'd  go  to  the  ends 
of  the  earth " 

"With  me?"  he  asked  gently. 

The  fire  left  her  eyes.  She  averted  them.  Her 
lower  lips  trembled. 

"I — why,  if  you "    Her  voice  broke. 

He  drew  close  to  her  now,  so  close  that  his 
shoulder  touched  hers. 

"Eileen,"  he  said,  "you  know  what  I've  done.  You 
know — do  you  know  that  never  again " 

"Rod,  you  don't  have  to  make  promises.  If  I 
didn't  know,  do  you  think  that  I'd  be  here?" 

"And  you  don't  think  that  I — that  I'm  really  a. 
thief?"  She  lifted  her  face  suddenly. 

"I  think  you're  ambitious,  Rod;  I  think  that 
you're  in  a  hurry  to  achieve.  But  a  thief — why, 
you  went  to  Sam,  didn't  you?  And  you  went  to 

Mr.  Ladd.  I  don't  know  what  more You  wanted 

to  run  away,  to  punish  yourself,  but  also  to  punishi 
Jimmy,  who's  fond  of  you ;  to  punish  me,  who  loves 
you.  And  we'd  done  nothing,  had  we?  If  you  still 
want  to  punish  Jimmy,  want  to  punish  me " 

"Eileen ;  you  know  that  I  can't  tell  it  to  you  how 
much  I  love  you.  And  if  you  can  forgive  me?" 

"Forgive  you,  Rod?    You've  done  nothing  to  me. 


UNEASY  STREET  339 

I€  was  "to  Blackmar.  And  you  have  squared  ac- 
counts with  him." 

"Not  completely,"  he  admitted. 

"But  you  will.  Restitution  and  confession — what 
more  can  be  demanded?" 

"But  the  character  of  a  man  who  deceives  you  so. 
Can  you  forgive  that?'?  he  persisted.  She  smiled, 
mischievously. 

"Rod,  if  you  punished  people  because  they  de- 
ceived us  about  their  characters Shall  we  fail 

the  girl  who  uses  rouge  to  indicate  to  her  friends 
that  she  adores  the  golf-links  and  thus  achieved  her 
complexion?  Rod,  we  can't  permanently  deceive 
people  4as  to  our  characters.  Forgive  you?  Rod, 
I'll  do  much  better  by  you  than  that.  I'll  love  you." 

Jimmy  knocked  twice.  He  received  no  answer. 
So  he  went  back  to  the  banister  in  the  hall  outside 
and  perched  upon  it,  and  smoked  another  cigarette. 
After  all,  the  office  was  closed  now;  it  was  Satur- 
day afternoon.  He  had  no  place  in  particular  to 
go.  And  they  ought  to  have  a  chaperon  lurking 
somewhere  outside,  anyway.  Moreover,  if  they 
thought,  just  because  they'd  fixed  matters  up,  that 
they  were  going  to  have  the  day  to  themselves,  they 
had  another  guess  coming  to  them.  They  were  go- 
ing to  do  their  just  share  of  entertaining  him. 
They  were  going  to  luncheon  together.  He  could 
wait. 

THE  END 


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